Black and Deep Desires
by Dr.Kim-chan
Summary: Fire and ice make steam. Everyone has black and deep desires. Lucius Malfoy and Ron Weasley are no different. Proud to be a LMRW fic. As of Aug. 25: ON HIATUS. I'm seriously considering tweaking the plot; see Black and Deep Desires forum for details!
1. Taken

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By Dr. Kim-chan

(Me, Harry, Ron, and Draco are sitting in a theater, but take note that this isn't an MST. They banned those months ago.)

Me: (has a bag of popcorn) Are we ready for my first chapter? Just listen and comment at the end; that's all you have to do. Got it?

All 3: (also with bags of popcorn, and respond unenthusiastically) Yes, Dr. Kim-chan.

Me: Sarcasm, but I get the message. Roll Chapter One! (clicks her remote)

(Begin Chap. 1)

...A comfortable buzzing of pleasant conversation had drifted through the Leaky Cauldron. Minutes later, a horrific noise of yelling and shouting replaced it and filled Ron Weasley's ears.

As you know, fifth year at Hogwarts had been, for the most part, eventful. The Daily Prophet's pages had been clogged with articles analyzing every move of Voldemort's prowling army, Umbridge nearly took over the school, and now another person close to Harry was lost forever. But the Order of the Phoenix had given him much support, and Ron and Hermione couldn't help but be dragged along in these war games. 'Dragged along' wasn't even the term for it. It was friendship, and nothing more. However, on that humid August day, nothing was a game anymore.

The first question to be asked was 'Why?' Why were the Death Eaters raiding both Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley in broad daylight? Nothing valuable to them could be found in these aisles of wizarding shops. Knockturn, perhaps. But at that moment, no one could be bothered with answering.

It had been Harry, Hermione, Ron, the Weasley parents, and Ginny. Moody, Tonks, and Shacklebolt had also come along to solidify a sense of security. Everything had been so peaceful until then; who knew that bringing the extra three people would work in their best interests?

Ron would never forget. Three elderly witches had rushed into the pub, screaming to anybody who'd listen that hooded figures had begun to terrorize Diagon Alley in the direction eastward of Gringotts. There was a panic at first, but in a rare act of bravery that Ron wouldn't have expected from his father, Arthur Weasley instructed Mrs. Weasley to take Ginny and the rest upstairs to a vacant room, send off Hedwig with a message to the House of Black for backup, and wait until the heat was off. Then off he went, the three members of the Order watching his back.

The remainder of the party had their doubts. Mr. Weasley just recently recovered from his snakebite. Could he endure a bout with Death Eaters? Unfortunately, the same question had to be asked of them. Soon after Hermione had shut the door of a third-floor room, a small brigade of those ominous servants to the Dark Lord entered the first floor. Then a conclusion was made: they were looking for Harry. They surely could've done so, but the raid on Diagon Alley had been a mere announcement to the wizarding world to fear Voldemort again.

Those thirty minutes had been agonizing. They searched every corner of the first and second floors of the inn, then made a move towards the third. Footsteps were just five doors down. They'd be found, and Harry killed with a single spell.

Miraculously, more help arrived. From their haven in a large closet, they heard the authoritative yells of Aurors belonging not only to the Order, but to the Ministry, below them. Hermione, Ginny, Harry, and Ron heaved a sigh of relief. Everyone would be saved. It had been a close call.

Eventually found by Hestia Jones, they were escorted downstairs. Most of the Death Eaters had been apprehended, but others still roamed the alley. It was finally back to Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Mr. Weasley had been sent before them hurt, but still alive.

A happy ending…or so it seemed.

The pub exploded with action a second time when the remaining Death Eaters flurried to save their own. No closet to hide them anymore. But it was then that Harry flourished into action. His wand produced the brilliant stag Patronus, driving away hooded figures from all directions with its horns. Awestricken but still aware, the adult Aurors followed suit. Gathering his own courage, Ron took his mother and younger sister by the arm and tried to lead them outside.

But in his path stood none other than Peter Pettigrew.

Ron took out his wand and attempted to remember those long hours in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, but an Expelliarmus spell robbed him of his wand and dignity before a word could be said.

Lupin jumped into the fight in the nick of time, but just how lucky had Ron been? Before the gallant ex-professor could intervene, he saw a yellow light, then everything faded to black.

Before Ginny could do anything to save her brother, Lupin pushed them back another way, herding them to safety. Finishing his work, Harry turned his attention to his unconscious friend a few feet away. Twelve steps away…nine…six…

Someone else was faster.

A nameless Death Eater swooped in and picked up Ron. With a battle cry of rage, the dark-haired boy prepared to fire another Patronus and reclaim his friend from the man's clutches. Blinded by his own anger, it was luck (and Lupin) preventing Harry from doing anything hasty, or else he would've failed to see that Death Eater hold a wand to Ron's temple. Those heartless wizards were taking advantage of Harry's weakness, milking it for all it was worth. Whether it was a bluff or whether he would see the dreaded green flash of light shooting out of the Death Eater's wand was anybody's guess, but no one wanted to play this sick game of Russian Roulette.

The Death Eater with Ron in his grasp then clutched the edge of his hood in apprehension, as if he wasn't certain to allow Harry to know who Ron's captor was. It almost seemed like a mind game. Cowardly, he did so, but only just as his fellow Death Eaters who hadn't been incarcerated by the Ministry or the Order fled the Leaky Cauldron via the Diagon Alley entrance.

In the second before Harry helplessly saw his best friend taken, his murderous vengeance rose up within him as the mysterious captor revealed icy blue eyes, a soulless half-grin, and the familiar strands of platinum blonde hair.

As the dim-lit pub fell quiet, a vow was silently made. One day soon, Harry Potter promised to himself, even if it meant his life…

…Lucius Malfoy would pay with his.

(End Chap. 1)

All 3: (sit in shock)

Me: It's short, but it sets up the mood pretty good. So…what did you think?

Draco:…You WROTE that?

Me: (annoyed) Yes! Why do you think it says "By Dr. Kim-chan" in the heading? For kicks?

Harry: That was the best I've seen from you in months!

Ron: I hate to admit it, but it was really suspenseful. What happens next?

Me: (watery-eyed) So…you LIKED it?

All 3: (nod)

Me: (bursts out crying in happiness into her bag of popcorn)

Ron: Oh no. Now she'll never stop. And we had a question to ask her.

Me: (stops crying immediately) What?

Draco: I thought you said Father doesn't show up until he goes to the Riddle House. How'd he end up in the Diagon Alley raid?

Me: Yeah. Halfway through, I changed my mind. But you'll get a further explanation on how he escaped Azkaban. But other than that, it seems that my fic was a smashing success so far with you three. I TOLD you not to knock it!

Ron: I can't believe I LIKED it…(eats his popcorn while pouting)


	2. Bloody Shackles

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By Dr. Kim-chan

Me: And we're back! Since you three liked the first chapter so much, let's see how you like the 2nd one!

All 3: (still grumbling)

Me: (sighs in exasperation) Shape up, you lot! The reviews are gonna start pouring in! (lays out the blue carpet) I am so excited!

Draco: Aren't we all. Who wants more Gummi Bears?

Harry: Me!

Ron: I thought it was supposed to be a _red_ carpet.

Me: I had no red carpet, so I had to get the next best thing. It was either that or lime-green.

Ron: Ick.

Me: My point exactly. Rolling Chapter Two! (clicks her remote)

(Begin Chap. 2)

...The hour crept close to one in the morning. Around the perimeter of the foreboding Riddle House, the people of Little Hangleton kept its distance away from the mansion of murders past gone.

This house and the nearby graveyard were the unofficial headquarters of the Death Eaters…in Britain, anyway. Voldemort had been in the process of making a decision of whether to take his operations to a global scale. But he declined and said 'no' to Wormtail's proposal. His conflict did not rest with the world; it rested only within Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Everything was going according to plan well enough. Yet there was a recent advancement which the Dark Lord hadn't expected. At this afternoon's raid on Diagon Alley, Lucius Malfoy brought back a souvenir—Potter's treasured friend, Ron Weasley. Not knowing what to do with their newfound prisoner-of-war, they stashed the unconscious boy in a second-floor room for the moment.

At the moment, two doors away, in a room with a lit hearth, Nagini slithered across the old floorboards, eventually coming to rest by her master's feet. In a large chair sat the Dark Lord himself, hidden by the night's shadows. In front of him, Lucius stood, trying to make maximum eye contact. Not even Voldemort's most trusted Death Eater could stand to look into his bloodshot pupils for too long. Another reason was due to the fact that he knew his master was very angry, and a Death Eater had to do everything in his power to avoid that mistake.

"I said it before we started the assault on Diagon Alley, I said it the night before, and I said it once more as we continued our operation to find Potter in the Leaky Cauldron. _What_ part of 'take no prisoners', pray tell, did you not understand!"

Lucius shuddered.

"Please don't take it as a failure to heed your instructions, my lord. I only thought it'd be in our best interests to seize the opportunity. Besides, Potter had a mind to try and attack me. I needed a shield."

"Did you also take the time to think that probably the boy's friend will sooner or later come looking for him?" Voldemort hissed.

"Potter didn't dare move. I used the Avada Kedavra bluff…and how would they know where we are? No one knows the whereabouts of our headquarters."

"Then consider this, my loyal servant. Why did you reveal your identity? Now that the Order knows you escaped from Azkaban, there's no telling what lengths they'll go to."

"Are you insinuating that the Ministry will have the nerve to interrogate my family?" Lucius inquired.

"The Ministry of Magic may be cowardly, but when it comes to discovering information, they're as ruthless as they come. Also, you failed to see that the Order of the Phoenix was battling our forces as well."

"The Order of the Phoenix…those mongrels haven't shown their faces since fifteen years ago. They were easy to defeat."

"Still, it looks like they regrouped, but not by much."

"How about this? I can take this blunder and turn it into our strength. We can keep both the Order and the Ministry at bay by taking the young Weasley boy as a hostage," Lucius offered.

"To ask for what in return?"

"Finances. I cannot afford to provide the Death Eaters a budget anymore, what with the Ministry freezing my assets at Gringotts."

"Really, Malfoy. To stoop so low as to ask for monetary reparations."

"With all due respect, my lord, we're in no position to be choosy about strategies. I am aware that you recently employed a respected alchemist who won't work for free. Callisto Zabini?"

Voldemort was beaten, but he didn't let it show right away. Malfoy was right in saying that the Death Eaters would lose their only potential alchemist if they didn't come up with at least 1,320 Galleons. In order for the current phase of his plan to succeed, they needed the expertise of Callisto Zabini no matter what the price. But no one else in Voldemort's ranks had that kind of financial security. No, he _didn't_ have a choice in the matter.

"Fine. You have my permission to send the conditions to the Order—"

Satisfied, Lucius began walking towards the doorway.

"—and whatever you do—"

Lucius stopped.

"—_do not kill the boy_. If he becomes a problem, you may discipline him, but do not kill him under any circumstances. He is no imminent threat, and we do not want to find ourselves in a worse situation than what you've already placed us in. If the Order does come up with the money, we want to keep them occupied," ordered Voldemort. "If we kill him, they'll assume we're up to our old tricks and attack with no hesitation. However, if we surrender him unharmed, they and the Ministry of Magic will have no choice but to fall into our trap. And he cannot stay here. Relocate our 'guest' to somewhere more comfortable."

"Yes, my lord. I'll take him to my manor."

…Blue eyes scanned their surroundings. He felt the cold metal on his wrists, the chains clinking against one another. When his eyes fully adjusted to the light, Ron noticed that his body was lying on a soft material—a bed. Bright candlelight, silk…where was he?

He looked down at himself. Still wearing the pants, sweater, and robe he had worn on that fateful day…

Then the memories flooded back to the dazed redhead. The attack on Diagon Alley. Peter Pettigrew standing in front of the entrance. Lupin had attempted to save him, but the yellow light from Pettigrew's wand hit him first.

Minding his returning headache, Ron checked off a list of all the possible places he could be. He certainly wasn't at St. Mungo's. It would've been much warmer than this room, and they didn't have silk beds or chains. Therefore, he wasn't back at the Burrow either. Then he gasped audibly as he realized what had happened.

The Death Eaters had taken him prisoner.

He groaned, resting his head back on what felt like a pillow. First the whole Sorcerer's Stone and Devil's Snare fiasco, the bout with Professor Lockhart in the Chamber of Secrets, the webs of deceit, lies, and werewolves in third year, the Triwizard Tournament, the escapade in the Department of Mysteries last year…and now this.

"How the bloody hell do I get myself into these messes?" Ron muttered.

"Because you're stupid enough to tag along with Potter all the time."

Hearing a familiar drawling voice, Ron sat straight upright in shock…or tried to. The short chains painfully retracted his arms, and he immediately fell back onto the bed. Learning from that mistake, he slowly sat up at the most beneficial angle possible.

His jaw dropped.

If he didn't know any better, Ron could've sworn he was looking at Draco Malfoy sitting on the edge of the bed. The dizzying sensation came back.

"Tell me this is a nightmare," complained the redhead. Draco shook his head in mock sympathy, reaching over to fondle the metallic bonds with his thin fingers.

"Unfortunately for you it isn't. You can't begin to comprehend how happy I'm feeling right now, Weasel, seeing you so helpless. You, Potter, Granger, and the rest of those idiots just can't stop playing hero. I guess this'll teach them a lesson."

Ron bristled, but kept his calm. He wouldn't be able to fight back even if he wanted to. The chains kept him confined to the silk-laden bed.

"Where are we?"

"Look around."

Ron frowned. "I'd love to, Malfoy, but I'm tied to the bed at the moment!"

"Must it be sarcasm with you? For your information, you're at the Malfoy Manor. Specifically, you're in one of our spare rooms, and you're now a hostage of the Death Eaters. I just dropped by to check up on you. When Father told me you were here, I just had to see for myself."

"Why the chains? I could've stayed in the bed. I was unconscious, for goodness' sakes!"

"Like we'd really leave you here to wake up and escape. Weasley, you're such an empty-headed reject."

"Don't test me, Malfoy. I may be chained down by the arms, but my legs are free to kick your arse."

"Tsk, tsk. Such language. I guess they don't teach you any manners down in that pigsty of a house you live in."

His patience wearing thin with Draco's usual insults, Ron ignored his manacles and writhed about, attempting to make some type of bodily contact with the blonde. Breezily, Draco jumped off the bedside to evade his wild kicks, turning his attention to the bowl of cold water on the nightstand. Feeling angrier now that he was being ignored, loud thumping was now heard all around the room as he tried to break free. Suddenly, Ron stopped as he felt a warm drip of liquid cascade from each of his wrists. Staring at the same place, Draco clicked his tongue and briefly dipped a washcloth into the ceramic bowl.

"Try not to tire yourself out, Weasley. These aren't freshly oiled chains. See, you're bleeding."

Ron wanted to point out Draco's inconsistencies yet again, since he couldn't see much of anything in his current position, but what occurred next astonished him. The blonde sat down again, this time up closer to enable himself to reach over and touch either wrist. Carefully lifting the chains, he soothed Ron's injuries with the freezing wet cloth. Draco was acting like a nursemaid—to his closest enemy, no less! The more awe-inspiring aspect was that neither boy was fazed by what was happening, as if it occurred naturally their entire lives. Dipping the cloth in the bowl again to rinse off the bloodstains, Draco started again, holding the cloth to Ron's pounding forehead and rhythmically rubbing it back and forth across his brow. The headache was disappearing, but that didn't distract Ron from regarding how _close_ the other boy's face was to his own.

To top it off, Draco began whispering in his ear.

"Let's not bring our petty fights outside of Hogwarts. You're at my house; that makes you my guest. Granted you're a guest in chains, but a guest nevertheless…I've never been this close to you, Weasley. It's a pleasant change of pace. Maybe I can finally confess how I really feel about you and Potter…"

Shocked beyond all rational thought, Ron was about to ask what things Draco wanted to 'confess'.

But before he could, a tall dark figure stood in the threshold…

(End Chap. 2)

Draco: That sounds like D/R to me!

Harry: Definitely.

Ron: Ew. Now Malfoy and his dad have to…(gulp)…share me?

Me: I didn't make any promises that this wasn't going to be D/R, now did I? Besides, it nicely tied up the scene. Can't you imagine Draco leaning ever so 'innocently' over Ron, cleaning his wounds and whispering in his ear…that low voice and warm breath? It's the makings of a good plot twist later in the story! Well, what'd ya think?

Harry: What's the deal with that new 'Zabini' character you're about to introduce? Haven't I heard that name somewhere before?

Me: Yep, from the enigmatic Blaise Zabini that pops up in some fanfics. Most claim it's "Zabini Blaise", but it isn't. Believe me. When McGonagall calls the names for the Sorting, she always says last name first, so it's the other way around. But I digress. The only thing we know about Blaise is that he's a Slytherin. Since Blaise is obviously a freelance character we can throw around and conform to fit plot holes in our stories, I say that HE (yes, he) is a Slytherin in the same year as you, and that he's from a prominent family who specializes in alchemy. Callisto is his father. Blaise plays a major part later.

Draco: I'm just shocked by the end of this chapter. How can I love that redheaded monster?

Ron: Well, you could TRY.

Harry:…Did that sound like what I think it sounded like?

Ron: No. No. Absolutely not. It didn't. Nope.

Harry: (teasingly) Oh? You don't want the Malfoys sharing you, but you don't mind sharing Draco with me.

Me: Hey! This is getting too freaky!

Harry: Blame Ron. He's the one that wants a threesome.

Ron: Shut up! (chases Harry around the theater)

Draco: And they wonder why you rated this 'R'.

Me: Gah. Not only is he sassy, but Harry's now a pervert, too. _C'est la vie_.


	3. Uncompromising Compromise

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By Dr. Kim-chan

Me: The Good Doc's back—all right!

Ron: Please…no more Backstreet quips!

Draco: (defensively) What's wrong with the Backstreet Boys?

Me, Ron, and Harry: (look at Draco strangely)

Draco: (attempts to change the subject) Um…isn't this the start of Chapter 3? We better get rolling! I wanna see who the dark figure in the doorway was.

Me: Whatever, Draco…Oh, Ron. Before I forget. Be warned. This is the chapter where you get degraded for the first time.

Ron: Oh no.

Me: Hey, you gotta roll with the punches…speaking of which, rolling Chapter 3! (clicks the remote)

(Begin Chap. 3)

...Hearing someone else other than himself and Ron breathing, Draco pulled up his thin body away from the warmth of Ron's. Lucius stood silent, his ice-blue eyes burning a hole into his only son. Draco paled, wondering if this was just his father's routine sullen attitude or if he witnessed the moment of dry intimacy he shared with the redhead in bondage.

"Are you quite finished tending to Weasley's needs?"

Whether that sentence held a double connotation, his son couldn't tell, but he answered Lucius anyway.

"Yes, Father."

"Good. Then give us privacy for awhile. I need to speak with him."

Nodding silently, Draco took a second glance at Ron, then rose and left quickly. With Ron's ability to see ahead and over the foot of the bed, he found something new to wonder about. As Draco passed his father, no eye contact was made. Was he ashamed? And if so, by what?

Once his son's footsteps faded, Lucius closed the door behind him, leaving only him and his prisoner in the large, candlelit room. Ron tried his best not to tense up for fear of bleeding again, but Lucius was giving him that same hole-burning stare. His muscles tightened, irritating the wounds on his wrists as they rubbed against the metal. Lucius towered above the boy in bed, considering just how to talk to him, to explain to this captive that he now held the fates of the Death Eaters and his family in his hands. But if we can truly be honest, it was more like Lucius was staring. This lanky, squirming teenager below him looked nothing like a specimen of Arthur's. He had seen the father more often than he desired, but receiving a close-up view of his youngest son forced the blonde man to draw back on his memories and make a comparison. No…he looked nothing like Arthur Weasley. In Lucius's opinion, Ron looked _better_.

But back to the matter at hand.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Your son told me already. I'm your hostage. Hey, if it's not too much trouble, when can I go home?" Ron pleaded.

"It depends, young Weasley. If your family wants you back so badly, they'll pay the right price."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Exactly how much of a right price?"

"How does 1,500 Galleons in exchange for your safety sound?"

"What! My family loves me, but I'm not that valuable!" Ron exclaimed.

In response, Lucius only chuckled. Ron's eyes widened. Lucius was rarely, if ever, known for having a sense of humor. To make the situation even more bizarre, the older man started to stroke his hair.

"Your family may be financially challenged, but they know all the right people, and if they know what's good for them and for you, eventually they'll ask those same people in for favors. Your parents—Arthur and Molly—still work for the Order, am I right?"

"How—!"

"—Could I know about the so-called secret Order of the Phoenix?" Lucius finished, fixing his hand to a slow rhythm as his strong fingers toyed with Ron's fiery strands. "The Death Eaters tangled with the Order before you were even born. A group of Aurors, ex-Aurors, Ministry workers, Mudbloods, and other filth who didn't have anything better to do than to pick fights with the Dark Lord…and it seems to me they still don't know any more about the power of Voldemort than they did nearly two decades ago."

"They're trying to make the wizarding world safe…and so is Harry," hissed Ron. "He can do anything he sets his mind to!"

"Really? Does he also enjoy putting everyone he meets in danger?"

"…What?"

"Fine. Play dumb. But you are aware of what I mean. Take this past summer, when we met in the Department of Mysteries. Was it really necessary for him to drag along you, your sister, that Longfellow boy, and that Muggle-born girl with him into the depths of danger? And for what? To rescue Sirius Black—which, I might add, he did a poor job of doing. By acting as the wizarding world's savior yet again, he only succeeded in letting Black die at the hands of Bellatrix. Tell me, Weasley, does he enjoy making people's lives miserable?"

"_That's not true!_ Everything you say is a lie! We followed Harry because we wanted to…because he was our friend!"

"Say what you want. Voldemort is telling the truth. Wizardkind has become weaker. Dumbledore's become weak, trying to protect all those worthless Mudbloods at Hogwarts—look at me!"

With a rapid movement, Lucius took his hand out of Ron's hair and used it to hold his face in a viselike grip. Feeling the extreme stress his neck and chin were being punished with, Ron bravely squinted into those penetrating eyes.

"Confess, young Weasley, to yourself and to everything you've ever known. Confess that the Dark Lord is the one true sorcerer, that we're the strongest forces. Mudbloods aren't worth the loss of energy or compassion…and that goes for your friend Granger, too. Maybe I'll let you go—if you admit that Potter was always wrong."

An uncomfortable, pressing silence passed between them as Ron made his decision. A sinister half-grin had appeared on Lucius's face. He loved these mind games he was playing on the young redhead.

A breath. Ron sat up, looking into Lucius's eyes the best he could. He spoke.

"Never."

The grip under his chin released.

In the next second, his breath was taken away just as quickly.

A rush of water pulsated down upon Ron's upturned face in an oddly diagonal direction. Bitterly cold, frozen water, splashing into his nose, his eyes, on his chest. For what felt like minutes it was hard to breathe. The silk sheets and his clothes became soaked in it. His hair instantly fell away from his forehead, plastered haphazardly all over the top of his head and onto the wet pillow. His wrists, throbbing from the torture of his manacles, were relieved as drops of water fell all around and into the chains. The deluge stopped. In total shock, Ron tried to sit up again, shivering violently. The excess water seeped into the bed, running down Ron's body, into his pants. Some of the water had entered his mouth, nearly choking him. As he coughed it up, he caught a faint peculiar taste on his tongue.

Blood?

Simultaneously blinking and shaking the water away from his eyes, Ron spotted the ceramic bowl in Lucius's left hand. The half-grin had disappeared to reveal his infamous deadened glare. The taste of blood…of course. The water Draco used to clean his injuries.

Filled with rage at how this boy could be so defiant against his will, Lucius forcefully dropped the ceramic bowl on the floor. It made an impressive crash, breaking into many dangerous fragments. Ron flinched and dropped flat onto the wet bed to avoid flying pieces.

"I should've expected that from you. You'll never see to reason. No matter. Even if your family comes up with the money and I let you go, we will win the war, regardless of your meaningless expectations. Your parents better come up with the 1,500 Galleons or else. Our patience is running thin."

As Lucius started to leave, Ron was at his wits' end. He realized how dire things were now. It was all his fault he had been caught and taken prisoner. Harry did have the necessary money, but who knows how the Death Eaters would use it? It was a lose-lose situation. He couldn't let his mom and dad sacrifice themselves again because of his mistakes.

"My family doesn't have the money! Please don't kill them! There's gotta be some other use I can be good for! Hell, I'd even be your servant! I could work off the money! Just don't hurt them!"

Lucius stopped. Ron held his breath.

"Work it off?"

"I could be your servant. Instead of being a bother to you, you could have collateral. So even if my family doesn't send the money, I can still be of use to you. Then you won't be in such a rush to get it. Who knows? Maybe by then, they'll find a way to get the money. Mr. Malfoy…I'll do whatever you want."

Enjoying the desperation in the redhead's voice, Lucius Malfoy finally gave into to his own inner sympathy.

"You certainly have your father's shrewdness. And I _do_ need a new servant, ever since Potter made me lose my house-elf four years ago…"

Lucius turned around.

"All right, Weasley. I can use the time to negotiate with Zabini a little more…and maybe appeal to the Ministry about unfreezing my assets. I believe you've made yourself a deal."

(End Chap. 3)

Me: Whew! In the nick of time!

Ron: And here is where the really degrading, scum-scraping work begins. I can't _believe_ I have to be Draco's butler! And pouring water on me! Was that _really_ necessary!

Harry: Be grateful. He was about to kill your family.

Ron: True.

Draco: Now, in the meantime, you can practice. (snaps fingers) Two butterbeers, Weasley! Chop-chop!

Ron: (dumps a bucket of butterbeer on his head) Your butterbeer is served, _sir_.

Me: Ooh! That reminds me of a song! A 100 buckets of butterbeer on the wall, a 100 buckets of butterbeer. Take one down, pass it around, 99 buckets of butterbeer on the wall! 99 buckets—

All 3: Run away! (run off into the sunset)


	4. The Lesson, Part One

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By Dr. Kim-chan

Me: Harry, Ron, Draco! Break out the champagne and pumpkin juice!

Harry: What for?

Me: We got our first reviews! Hopefully the R/L bug is starting to catch on! Now where was I? Oh yeah! TWO buckets of butterbeer on the wall, two buckets of butterbeer. Take one down, pass it around…ONE bucket of butterbeer on the wall! One bucket of butterbeer on the wall, one bucket of butterbeer! Take it down, pass it around…NO MORE BUCKETS OF BUTTERBEER ON THE WALL!

Draco:…So, I take it the song's done.

Me: Yes.

All 3: Finally!

Ron: Great. Now that that's over, what do we have to worry about in this chapter?

Me: (says nothing, and a Cheshire Cat grin appears on my face as I look at him)

Ron: Oh no…this is where it's gonna get 'squicky', isn't it!

Me: Heck yeah! Can you believe I wrote three whole chapters without any fanservice? I must be losing it!

Harry: Exactly how squicky is this gonna get?

Me: (whispers it in Ron's ear, and he faints)

Harry: Ah. Say no more.

Me: At least it'll be below NC-17! It's not like I'll describe it in excruciating detail (well, maybe…)! Ron, wake up! Ron! Dammit, that's the third time this week…poor boy. Oh well. I'll excuse him from commenting on this chapter, but for this one only! Too bad. It's my longest chapter thus far. In fact, it's a two-part chapter.

Draco: Then can we be excused, too?

Me: Not so fast, buck-o. (ties Harry and Draco to their chairs) Rolling Chapter 4! (clicks her remote)

(Begin Chap. 4)

...Ron's training began that very night.

In truth, he wasn't expected to perfect all the arts of menial service until a couple of days later, when Lucius finished explaining the many intricate schedules which made the Malfoy Manor 'tick', so to speak. Serving breakfast at the right time and pruning the garden—the less important aspects of being a servant would be introduced to Ron later; they were set aside to be learned another time. If you really thought about it, actually _being_ a servant would be the least important task Ron would have to perform. Ironic, but true, and if one understood the dark, underlying nature of Lucius Malfoy that Ron came to realize soon enough, it made perfect sense.

What Ron Weasley was immediately taught on the night before his first day of official enslavement was a lesson that, unfortunately for him, would put upon him the burden—no, the displeasure—to remember it over and over again. Certainly something sinister was at work behind Ron's fate.

After their short bout of bargaining, Ron compelled Lucius to keep him as a servant rather than a hostage in order to buy both himself and the middle-aged blonde more time. Ron still didn't know who this Callisto Zabini was, but if his services required such desperate measures, then maybe it was of the utmost important that he should cooperate with Lucius.

That was a decision he came to regret.

Set the scene: the aforementioned last night. Just moments away from ignoring Ron's heartfelt pleas, Lucius turned around to accept the boy's proposal. We shall pick up at the minute in time where the redheaded captive laid in the damp bed, shivering but relieved that his family would be in danger no longer. Oh, but little did Ron know what he had committed himself to.

It was true that the Malfoy Manor had began to find itself in a less-than-impressive state since Harry had freed Dobby from serving there. Of course Lucius needed a cook, a washer, someone to respond to his every need. You and I don't need to be told that the Malfoys weren't the kind of people who picked up after themselves…especially now that Narcissa was gone.

Oh, we have to ask that question now, don't we? What did happen to Lucius's wife? I'll tell you: no one can give a clear answer, not even Narcissa herself. The only way we can perceive it is that after the ordeal in the Department of Mysteries, Narcissa couldn't handle the stress of being a Death Eater's wife. In addition, she was shaken up by the arrest of her closest sister Bellatrix Lestrange, whom was almost sure to be convicted of murder. No member of the Order in their right mind would refuse to testify against the killer of one of their own. But what Narcissa overlooked was that Sirius Black hadn't been popular with the Ministry, either. But Mrs. Malfoy gave up hope on that; even if Sirius's death wasn't that much of an issue to get excited over in the Ministry, the Order would most likely return with a vengeance, and she was still seen in the trademark robes. On top of that, there was the simple fact that she was tired of Lucius's dangerous antics. Therefore, she gathered whatever precious belongings she had and abandoned her power-hungry husband, heading towards the Manse de le Fay. Waiting for her there was one of her best friends, Meredith le Fay.

Abruptly finding himself alone, Lucius longed for another companion, and now he had one. A teenage boy in his prime…a Weasley, for Merlin's sake. Surely he could use Ron to fulfill his private, personal needs.

But he'd have to learn quickly, and already he saw the perfect situation in which to test his new pet.

From his pocket Lucius extracted a tiny skeleton key. Methodically he entered it into each keyhole of a manacle. Then Ron sank fully into the bed. He moved his arms, discovered he was free, and quietly let out a grateful sigh. Cautiously he watched his new master, attempting to forecast what he wanted him to do now.

"Obviously you're wet, and who knows what side of which pile on the farm you rolled off of," Lucius cynically observed. "This'll be your first lesson. I expect cleanliness in my house, even from you—and right now you must be chilled to the bone."

Ron nodded hesitantly.

"First perform a drying spell on your bed…yes, I said _your_ bed. As of now, this is your personal bedroom. If you haven't seen it already, there's an adjoining bathroom on your left. After you're through, you can enjoy a warm bath."

Nodding vigorously now, Ron searched his pockets, finding his wand in his robes. Briskly, a creamy blue light spread out over the red silk sheets, returning them to their former softness. There was a touch of delicious sin to this simple act; he suddenly remembered the rule of not performing magic outside of Hogwarts. Following suit, Lucius took out his own wand and ignited the hearth of the fireplace. At last, the room was warm to the touch! Forgetting himself, Ron smiled as he entered the bathroom.

Stop. A gasp of amazement.

The bathroom was as large as his bedroom in the Burrow. He expected the Malfoys to be living in the lap of luxury, but not like this. He walked over to the edge of a tub—a tiled, sunken hole in the floor with a thin lining of porcelain. There were extended ledges halfway up the tub to sit on, but to compare area ratios for a moment, if Ron sat on the bathtub's floor when water was poured in up to the top, the water would go half an inch over his head.

Then he saw the water taps. Remembering to plug the drain first, Ron experimented with a few. They were exactly like the taps in Harry's story about going to the prefect's bathroom in fourth year. One tap produced scalding, soapy water with purple bubbles and a lavender scent to match. He equalized the temperature with clear cold water, then added a lukewarm green mixture smelling of an exotic jungle flower. Then he lessened the cold water's pressure, turned up the green mixture, and tested one more tap…hah! A right choice. Another waterfall of suds flowed into the tub; a warm, moon-white color carrying the scene of fresh white roses. All of them created a steamy, psychedelic concoction of water, steadily filling up the bathtub.

When it got to where Ron could sit both on the ledge and the floor without his head going completely under the water, he stopped all the taps and began to think deeply. Were things really turning out as bad as he expected? Save for the cold bloody water thrown on him, Lucius was being abnormally kind. He had a spacious bedroom all to himself, a wonderful bathroom. Work would soon be involved, but at least he wouldn't have to deal with those chains again. If he played his cards right, he'd also avoid any trouble or punishment as well. No, things weren't going to be bad around here.

Or so he thought.

He heard footsteps again. Taking his eyes off the fastener on his robe, Ron looked up to see Lucius again, this time holding a towel.

"I hope the accommodations are to your liking," he murmured, a hint of satisfaction (or was it something else?) enveloped in his voice.

"Are you kidding! They're better than at my house. If this is the treatment I'm getting as a servant, I can only imagine the life you and Draco live," Ron exclaimed, freeing himself of the saggy robe. "Wait. Um, Mr. Malfoy, I didn't bring any other clothes…of course I didn't. I wasn't expecting being taken prisoner." (The latter sentence he muttered under his breath.)

"All taken care of. My old throwaways will suit you. A bit bigger, but they'll do just fine."

"Thank you, sir." Ron flinched, but he figured he'd better get used to calling Lucius by the honorable title. He'd have to call him that from now on.

Lucius only smiled in response, still doing so as he left Ron to his bathing duties. But once the man found himself on the other side of the door, his smile took on another definition.

Yes, Ron was hot-blooded, but he was compassionate deep inside. That trait alone was to be used as his downfall.

If we can talk very personally for a moment, Lucius was actually thrilled to be rid of his quarrelsome wife. She was necessary for a few tasks he never bothered with, but Narcissa had been just as self-centered as he had. Yet there was a solitary element she brought into their personal chambers that made most of the tension in the Malfoy household worth it. Of course I'm discussing the private, sexual nature of their relationship. However, a while after their son was born, he grew quite bored with lovemaking, at least that of Narcissa's standards. We need not go into detail, but let's just say that Narcissa vied for dominance just as much as Lucius. He wanted someone who would squirm and shudder beneath him, someone who would feel completely helpless and needy at the same time…_and_, admittedly, someone who wasn't female.

Their marriage wasn't totally loveless, but Lucius had always possessed the expert wandering eye belonging only to a homosexual trapped in a straight married man's body. Their marriage was created out of aristocratic expectations and Lucius's hunger for a male heir. Aside from those reasons, Narcissa was disposable. Now that she practically disposed of herself, he was free to play the field, and the boy behind the door was his first victim. Yes, Ron _was_ young, but it added to the excitement of the hunt. Always grab something while it's still fresh. It would also decrease the effort of intimidating him as far as age was concerned. He was also a servant, obligated to please him in any way fathomable.

It was a winning combination.

Contemplating his next move, the conniving man left the room.

…Meanwhile, Ron was blissfully unaware, immersing himself in the sweet-smelling bath water. He made extra-care to clean off the rust and blood on his wrists, then spent the rest of his allotted time warming himself and thinking deeply again. He was beginning to have second thoughts. Lucius Malfoy was known to strike up a deal that seemed promising, then the associate would find himself in deeper trouble than he bargained for. Could he be trusted this time? What if he kept Ron and still demanded money from the Weasleys? To no one in particular, he shrugged his wet shoulders in answer to his own question. He'd cross that bridge when he got there.

Raising his hands up from beneath the surface, Ron checked his fingers for waterlogged wrinkles. Yep, they were pruned. Feeling along the bathtub surface for the plug, he caught the small iron ring with his toe and pulled. The colorful water raced down the drain, and he climbed up the slippery tiles. He grabbed the towel, covered himself, and turned the doorknob.

Lucius wasn't anywhere to be found, but had laid out clothes at the edge of the bed. As soon as he saw them, Ron's thoughts changed again. The material was a dark blue silk, as if the older man had wanted to make sure that his pajamas coordinated with his features.

His skin returning to an icy temperature, Ron quickly dried himself off by the fireplace, then changed into his new pajamas. They were loose in some places and tight in others, but in all the right spots. The area around the collarbone especially drew attention to his pale neck. They were very comfortable, but that could've been a biased opinion due to the fact that he had never worn silk before. As foolish as it sounded to his ego, he'd have to thank Mr. Malfoy in the morning for these new clothes.

He surmised that he was allowed to go to sleep now; there wasn't anything he could do this late at night to serve his new master. Lucius had probably retired to bed himself. Drowsily, Ron drew the now dry, smooth covers over him and used another charm to extinguish the candles, leaving the soft glow of the hearth's fire. The flames created dancing shadows around the bedroom, but Ron wasn't uneasy. If it had been a thunderstorm tonight, that would've been a different story.

His eyelids drooped and sagged, beginning to give way to sleep. Unrelated thoughts flashed through his head. One minute, he wondered how distant the Malfoy Manor was from the Burrow in Ottery St. Catchpole—not that he was planning to escape. He blinked once, seeing the bed's canopy above him. He blinked again, and he watched the constant shift of reddish light giving the room a dim luster.

He blinked for a third time…and saw a dark figure loom over him.

Instantly, Ron sat straight up, ready to give himself the run of his life. But he peered closer to find that it was just Lucius. He must've been really sleepy; he didn't even hear him come in. Now he only had one question: Why was he here?

"I know you're tired, what with the predicament you've been through today…but there's something you need to learn immediately concerning your new job, and I figure that now is as good as any time."

Ron rubbed his eyes. "What…is it?"

"I guess this explanation will stem from what recently happened in the manor. You see, my wife is no longer with me."

"I get it. You wanted a servant so they could do the things Mrs. Malfoy used to do."

"You're partially correct."

For the second time, the older man sat down, but not at the edge of the bed. He sat directly beside Ron, very close to his body. The younger boy was curious, but not suspicious. Too bad. Suspicion could've saved him.

"I don't understand. What else did she do?" Ron asked.

"You're old enough, Weasley. You should've already come to terms with the facts of life. In all truth, Narcissa didn't make a motion to clean or cook around the house. She was a refined debutante, putting herself above the ordinary role of a housewife. You're actually replacing my old house elf. There's nothing absolutely radical about what you'll be doing in the manor—except for one thing," explained Lucius cryptically. "There was one duty she faithfully performed, and even then I began to grow disgusted with her. But the fault laid with me. I never wanted a wife in the first place, anyway. Females are too superficial."

Seeing that Ron still didn't comprehend, Lucius decided to jump the gun.

"Let me be blunt. The other duties you perform are still important, but none of them will take precedent over the duty I am about to assign you now. And to start, I just desire to ask one question of you. Maybe then you'll understand what I truly need you for, the real reason why I approved of you becoming my personal servant."

Lucius inclined his face into Ron's ear, whispering the offending inquiry.

"I take it you're still a virgin?"

Ron immediately jumped back and blushed so warmly the crimson shades of his cheeks were close to rival that of his hair. Why in hell did he ask that question, out of all the questions in the world! Now there wasn't any doubt that he was awake.

"Wha—! I mean…why're you…huh!" Ron stammered.

"It's an innocent question," Lucius smirked.

"Speak for yourself!"

"Just answer it. I command you to."

Ron flinched, realizing that he had been backed into a corner.

"Yes," he muttered quietly. "But what does that have to do with—?"

He stopped in mid-sentence. It hit him. The liability he was now supposed to substitute for since Narcissa was out of the house. That had to be it; what else would he be talking about? But it couldn't be. It all sounded so wrong, so immoral. Then again, he wouldn't put it above to Lucius to try.

"You wouldn't dare," Ron whispered edgily, his anger rising. "I said I'd be your servant, not your damn concubine!"

"And I also recall you saying that you'd do anything I want you to for the sake of keeping your family safe," Lucius shot back. Ron cowered back, but retained some of his ire. This was pure blackmail! But he'd be damned if he let this pervert steal his virginity.

"What, so I'm just a toy to you?"

"Don't put it in such harsh terms, Weasley. Who knows? You might enjoy it. At your age, it's perfectly normal to be curious."

When he saw an arm start to reach for him, Ron sensed that now was the time to run, or at least try. Throwing back wave upon wave of silk sheets to try and confound his predator, he desperately snatched away five seconds of success before another arm caught him around his midriff and drew him back. The shadows of the fire danced again, giving Ron enough light to see that Lucius was now a scarce inch above him, trapping him below. The older man was close enough for Ron to see deeply into his blue eyes, which now held sparks of frightening determination.

"I do not believe you have a choice in the matter. Your first lesson starts right now…"

(End Chap. 4, Part 1)

Harry: OMG!

Draco: OMG!

Me: OMG!

Ron: OMG!

Me: (looks over at Ron) I thought you fainted!

Ron: I woke up around the part where I had gotten out of the bathtub. But more importantly…_you're a cruel authoress who deserves to die!_

Me: You can't even touch me. I have special authoress powers, remember? It says here in the contract.

Ron: To hell with the contract!

Me: Fine! (ties Ron down in a chair) For your punishment, Mr. Potty Mouth, you must stay there and critique Part 2 with us. And let me tell you, it's only gonna get worse.

Draco: That seems obvious enough. My father turned into a deranged, sex-deprived lunatic.

Me: In any case, we're at a cliffhanger, guys! What will happen next?

Harry: No walk in the park, I'll tell you that much.

Me: Find out in the next chapter, where we test the limits of the ratings on FF.N! Mwahahahahahaa!


	5. The Lesson, Part Two

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By Dr. Kim-chan

Me: Well, this fic is certainly starting to live up to its title.

Harry: I'll say.

Me: Now you'll understand why I gave this fic its rating. But I won't describe every detail, like I said before. It'll all be done in general yet suggestive terms. (strikes a dramatic pose) That is the art of true fanfiction writing.

Ron: (still tied up in his chair) It's the art of insanity, that's what it is.

Me: Quiet, you. Just sit there and critique this chapter like a good little muse…hey! I just noticed something! I went four whole chapters without making a disclaimer!

All 3: (gasp) Make one now!

Me: Okay! Before I get reported, let us have it on record that I do not own nor do I aspire to own any part of the Harry Potter corporate colossus. All that glitter and gold belongs to Warner Bros., as well as the almighty writer who is JK Rowling. Besides, they'd have my ass on a platter if they found out what I was doing with her characters…

Ron: Yeah, like forcing them into bizarre slash fics!

Me: What-ever. Rolling Chapter 5, Part 2! (clicks the remote)

(Begin Chap. 5)

...It was a never-ending sea of silk and the scent of musk, with Ron attempting to fight his way up to the surface. He continued to writhe, trying to break free. But it was no use; he was exhausting himself out. In fact, that had been Lucius's plan. Simply by latching on to his wrists, he was able to keep his prey where he wanted it. He wouldn't have to resort to brute force...and he didn't want to. Ron would learn his place soon enough.

A minute later, Ron stopped moving entirely, panting loudly. His pajama shirt was wrinkled and twisted every which way, the waistband of his pants tugged slightly down without being too appealing. Satisfied, Lucius released his arms and inspected Ron's trembling body up and down, wondering where to start first. Then, with indifference, he began to undo the shirt buttons. Upon finishing the last button, he pushed away the two separate pieces to expose Ron's chest.

"My, my, my. Your skin is so pale. I'm curious to see just how pale you are."

A slow lunge upward, and now Lucius sat at the far end of the bed, letting Ron get a second wind. The blonde's pajamas consisted of draping black velvet brocade, leaving everything to the imagination. Not thinking clearly, Ron made his first mistake by also getting up. In the process, the shirt slipped away and off of his arms, leaving his torso bare. A second too late, he noticed Lucius staring and frantically tried to put his shirt back on. A sudden leap, and Lucius was back on top, his hands working ferociously. Before long both of their shirts were on the carpet below. Either it was his state of shock, or Ron was taking the time to feel the warmth of the older man's chest. Due to their similar heights, their faces were always level with one another.

"You've never even kissed yet, have you, Weasley?"

Ron shook his head, unknowingly signaling for Lucius to make the initiative. Slowly, their lips touched, and Ron was at a loss for what to think or say. It was another moment later before tongue was involved. For what seemed like ages, he closed his eyes to distract himself from thinking about whom he was kissing.

Suddenly, there was a sharp pinch at his neck, and Ron's eyes flew open.

"Ah!" he hissed, rubbing the sore spot. He didn't have to guess who was responsible for that discomfort. Lucius was giving him another hard stare.

"Not a satisfactory kiss," the man reprimanded. "Was your mind somewhere else?"

"Yes," Ron admitted.

"Then start thinking. Be more aware of what I'm doing to you. I may be dominant here, but you must make the effort to cooperate. Don't just lie there with your mouth open so wantonly."

Ron's anger returned. He may not have had a mastery of vocabulary like Hermione, but he knew what that last word meant.

"I'm not asking for this," he snapped. "Believe me, it's the last thing I'd ask for. You're the one who's acting so wanton."

Lucius sat above him, contemplating Ron's comeback. He stood still for a while with a curious glance in his blue eyes—long enough for the redhead to be fooled into thinking that he'd won the debate.

Not exactly.

As fast as a cobra poised to strike, Lucius' arm swung out backwards, then curved forward, gaining enough momentum for the hand to make a burning red welt on the younger boy's cheek. Ron's head recoiled and he looked away, his eyes thin slits of hatred, staring at no one in particular. He was angrier than ever, yet a bit of dismay was also included. Nobody had ever slapped him before (at least not so brutally). All fury was kept stored up in his body and soul; he sure as hell couldn't fight back against Draco's father. He had to remind himself why he was doing this. If he didn't carry out his…'duties', then his family would be in danger. But Ron Weasley was not one to be pushed around. Not by anything.

Or perhaps he spoke too soon. The worst of this ordeal was soon to come.

In the midst of recovering from his shock, his overbearing master tackled him down into the silk again. However, there was something different about the position he had put the younger boy in which Ron couldn't quite put his finger on. For one thing, he wasn't facing Lucius anymore. Instead, he was lying on his stomach—

_No!_, Ron protested mentally. _That bastard wouldn't dare._

"I see you're overdue for a lesson in respecting your superiors. Yet I already see that the classic punishments won't cut it. You're too much of a free spirit, what with following Potter into the depths of hell and back," Lucius reflected bitterly. "That's all right—I already know your weakness. It's a deep mechanism of the mind you'd never understand, so it may be best to show you."

"What're you babbling on about?" Ron complained, his voice partially muffled by the sheets.

"Simply put, you can stand a beating or two. Something like that would never put you down. Besides, I can't give you back to your parents damaged. On the other hand, if someone became too intimate with you, you get very uncomfortable."

Ron thought it over, and it was true. Hitting only made him stronger—in fact, he enjoyed a good bout. It was closeness he hated more than anything. He even got antsy when his mom hugged him (or maybe that was just embarrassment).

"You need a punishment that means more than a hit, a punishment no one can see. That's why I asked if you've lost your virginity yet. You see…I'd like to have the honor of taking it."

That was all he needed to say. In mere seconds Ron turned from defiant to terrified. He jumped up to try another escape, but Lucius already had him pinned down. Ignoring how exhausted he was, Ron thrashed about, shouting out protests and insults alike. He stubbornly carried on like that for what felt like half an hour, but he had a restricted area of movement. His arms and legs became weak, and then he reluctantly gave up. He didn't want to, but he had to. His muscles ached, his throat was hoarse…besides, to whom in the Malfoy Manor could he call for help? He had no friends here. There wasn't anything he could do. He was trapped.

"Resistance only wets my appetite," the older man warned, his fingers and thumb latching on to the waistband of Ron's pants. In one swift stroke, he pulled them down to his knees. What made this situation more mortifying was that he had also pulled down his underwear in the process. This act of carnal affection defied all logic within the redhead. He was literally being exposed to one of the most loathsome individuals he ever met. But the older man was far from finishing his intimate work. He pulled off the restrictive clothing completely and threw them on top of the pile of shirts. The bastard was daring to.

_I will not cry. I will_ _not__ cry. That's just what he wants. He wants to see me collapse and become a pathetic pile of dung. No matter what, I won't become weak. I won't let him see me cry…_

It was a desperate effort. He was blushing hotly, but not crying. Burning warmth pulsated behind his eyeballs. Moisture collected on his eyelids. It was the most embarrassing moment of his life. Lucius changed positions so that his body was now flat parallel and a millimeter above Ron's, the taunting voice in his reddened ears. A quiet rustling of silk was also heard—the sound of Lucius taking off his own pants.

"It'll be over in a minute, Weasley…just relax…"

The black silk brocade pants also found their way to the floor, along with Lucius's own undergarments. Daring to peek, Ron turned away from the pillow and looked up to his assailant. A sinister grin stared back; it was the crazed look of a monster preparing to feast upon his defenseless prey. Lucius's body…surprisingly, it didn't look half bad. He became thinner than when Ron last remembered him; that oh-so-warm chest heaving with deranged determination…Ron buried his face into the pillow. He didn't want his eyes to describe anything further than that.

Besides, he felt it a second later.

The sensation was unlike anything in this world Ron had ever experienced in his life. It was a hot, rushed, forceful touch that went as deep as it could, painful enough to make the redhead cry out, but at the same time strangely alluring. Slowly, the mysterious invader sneaked halfway out and entered again at the same steady speed. Was this really happening to him? Ron was now at the point where his mind was floating around aimlessly; still aware of what was going on, but in a haze of disbelief. He couldn't control his lips, which were spaced apart instead of clenched like he wanted them to be. Drunken with conflicting senses, Ron moaned into the pillow. Misinterpreting the sounds, Lucius took up speed, changing the moans to helpless whimpers and fast-paced breaths.

And so this macabre ritual of intimacy between Ron Weasley and Lucius Malfoy continued, all through the night, and whosoever found themselves at that peak of indescribable pleasure before the sun rose found themselves the luckier.

(End Chap. 5)

Me: (speechless)

Ron: (speechless)

Harry: (speechless)

Draco: "Mysterious invader"? What the hell?

Me: I SAID general terms!

Ron: Not that I wanted that chapter to continue, but that's it?

Me: Pretty much. You'll hear about the morning after next. Besides, I've totally been procrastinating on this chapter for a week, and I've gotten more reviews since then! So until Chapter Six! Let the wave of Ron/Lucius spread throughout FF.N!

All except Ron: Hoo-hah!


	6. Mornings and Favors

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By Dr. Kim-chan

Me: You know, I'm considering changing my penname. Having doctorate degrees in fanfictionology, Potterology, Malfoyology, slashology, and crazyology just isn't what it's cracked up to be.

Draco: That's all well and good, but we're more interested in what happens next.

Me: Oh right! The morning after Ron's mortification.

Ron: (gritting teeth) Don't remind me.

Me: You know what? You've suffered enough. (Unties him) But remember who's boss around here!

Ron: Right…by the way, what's with the dots you're putting before some of your paragraphs?

Me: Since apparently, spacing doesn't work around this joint no matter what I do at Word or the FF.N edit-thingy, three dots before a paragraph mean a change in time or scenery, just to make this crystal clear. Now, are we ready?

Harry: Let's get it over with. Rolling Chapter Six! (Me: That's MY line!)

(New Stuff!)

Me: Sorry for the wait, but something struck me as I was writing Chapter 10. It didn't make sense at all, and so I had to rewrite this, a bit of 7 and 8, 9, and make a new Chapter 10. Really, I don't want Ron's hands too full of problems. The focus is supposed to be around him and Lucius, and adding Blaise in the mix made it more stupid. Therefore, I decided to change the whole course of this Blaise thing. His alchemist father will be crucial, so I couldn't put the Zabinis out entirely. So I made him and Draco a consenting couple…but their road to happiness won't be so easy.

Draco: I don't care. As long as I get some action!

Me: Yes indeed. In fact, that's the whole plot of Chapter 10: action! (hears Ron sighing in relief that it isn't him)

Harry (sadly): What about me?

Me: You come later, and surprisingly, you'll turn out to be a bad guy with good intentions. Still bad, though.

Ron: Harry…a BAD guy! (faints)

Me: Anyway, so enjoy the new subplot, and again, I'm sorry to keep everyone waiting. This is one fic I'm NOT gonna put on the backburner!

(Begin the NEW Chap. 6)

…"Father really did a number on you."

A pair of blue eyes opened cautiously. There were no more haunting shadows dancing on the walls; the fire in the hearth had gone out with the rising of the sun. It was early morning, and Ron was in the same place where Lucius had left him—confused, pained, and dismayed on a silken bed. He barely held any recollection whatsoever of what happened the night before between him and his new master. And now, the familiar drawling voice was addressing him again. Hearing it, the light-headed victim weakly raised his head to look at Draco. The blonde was still in his emerald pajamas, not even dressed. But guessing by the amount of sunshine in the room, the hour had yet to chime even nine.

"Where am I?"

"I could've sworn you asked that same question last night. You're at the Malfoy Manor, being held prisoner, remember?" Draco reminded. Ron shook his head, desperately trying to get his memory back. But he was also observant enough to see that Draco wasn't looking at him—his eyes avoided him entirely. Of course, he was attempting to pass it off smoothly by pretending to look at his nails.

"What's wrong?"

"What?"

"You're not looking at me, or at least you're trying hard not to."

"Merlin, Father must have really done some damage. Either that or you really are a poor, dull-witted excuse for a wizard. I can't believe you don't remember…let's just say that one: I heard everything, and two: I presume you prefer sleeping in the nude."

Ron glanced down at himself and blushed, another cloud of unawareness fazing his vision. Why was he naked? What exactly about last night was he forgetting?

Then it all came back to him like a sudden thunderclap—a wave of recent memories best left forgotten. Dim candlelight…shadows…a feeling of helplessness and fear…a rushing, painful sensation…demonic blue eyes staring down at him…

_Bloody bastard!_

He jumped up from the bed and put his clothes back on with a sudden rage. Draco stopped paying meager attention to his fingers and stepped back, startled.

"If you're going to look for Father, then you can stop rushing. It's not like he disappeared anywhere. When he doesn't have to go to work or doesn't have any other pressing engagement, he sleeps late…which is now all the time, since he's no longer welcome at the Ministry. He'll soon be getting ready in his bedroom, and I just wanted you to know that he always expects breakfast to be waiting for him."

"What?"

"Does being a servant until your ruddy family pays up mean anything to you, Weasley? Servants cook breakfast and do all those other chores. In fact, before I start to forget—like you seem to be doing a lot—I was sent here on behalf of Father to make sure you woke up on schedule. He woke up for a while, then went back to sleep. Since I can also presume that you're quite filthy from your…other duties last night, it's a bath and then a change of clothes for you…and hurry it up. Father can get rather impatient."

Ron stopped buttoning his shirt as Draco pranced out of the room, then started over more slowly as he now realized he had skipped two buttonholes in his haste. Whether it was from being tired, a sudden distraction within the confines of his mind, or the senseless fact that he was going to remove his clothes again anyway once he stepped into the bathroom, nobody knew, but Ron only buttoned halfway. Walking into the bathroom and closing the door, his thoughts turned once again to his worried family at the Burrow, and his cheeks burned with shame. What would everyone say if they found out? His parents would raise hell, and he never liked anyone making a fuss over him. His friends, Harry and Hermione…he'd never be able to look them in the face again. What was probably the worst aspect of it all was that he was 'soiled', so to speak. In one night, he had lost both his first kiss and his virginity. Those were meant to be something special for his teenage years, something to keep until he had found the right one.

Deep in melancholic thought, Ron drew his bath from just two taps, not bothering to be creative this time. Meanwhile, Draco reentered the room with a set of clothes his father told him to give to their new servant. He hurriedly tossed them on the bed and stood close enough by the door to begin a personal interrogation.

"So, Weasley, what exactly did happen last night?"

"You said you heard it all. You saw me lying here naked and out of my mind—you tell me," Ron shot back loudly over the roaring of the taps. "Besides, I don't want to go into detail."

"I do know, but I was afraid to confirm my suspicions. Father's a real bastard when he can be; sometimes he doesn't even have to make an effort. Mother was the same way. She just flew off to the le Fay estate without even saying goodbye. I used to always be able to get what I want from my parents, but now I wonder if it's even worth it."

Surprised, Ron stopped the taps after a few minutes and immersed himself, carrying his voice through the oak door. "I had no idea you were so sensitive. I thought you loved your mum and dad. Goodness knows you're always bragging about them at Hogwarts. It's always about how your mum gives you a box of chocolates the first day, how your dad got you a spot on the Quidditch team, how your dad will always make things right with a snap of the fingers…not to mention how you almost got Hagrid fired—"

"That bloody overgrown chicken tried to kill me!"

"Oh, boo-hoo! It was your fault in the first place. You damn near gave us a headache going on and on about how wonderful it is to be spoiled, to be a pureblooded Malfoy. Now you're telling that me it's not so wonderful?"

"Maybe I am and maybe I'm not," the blonde replied saucily. "In any case, I'm warning you, Weasley: whatever I tell you must never go outside the Manor. I don't want any part of my private life being made into a school-wide scandal, specifically by Potter."

"Whatever you say," Ron sighed halfheartedly while toying with a washcloth.

"_I mean it_," Draco growled viciously. "I'm not the type of person who wants everybody to know everything about me."

"What about—?" Ron started.

"Those boneheads don't know half as much about me as you think they do," answered Draco, knowing what Ron was about to ask. "Neither does Parkinson, although it's no secret that she tries her best. I'll admit I'm not that fond of her. She's a flimsy piece of work, she is, with no life of her own…by the way, after breakfast, Father's going to show you around and instruct you about the rest of your chores. Tonight's particularly special because he's bringing guests."

"Who?"

"Callisto Zabini. He's an experienced alchemist who goes around making deals, working for various leaders in the Dark Arts community, rumored to be one of Europe's best. There's a big row among the Death Eaters about his recent contract with Voldemort—of course, that's why you were taken prisoner in the first place—because Voldemort never needed the assistance of an alchemist before, so what he's planning this time must be _very_ important. He's worth more than my father, for goodness sakes…and I'm looking forward to the visit."

"Why?"

"Mr. Zabini comes to visit Father many times, and whenever he does, he always brings his son Blaise. For some idiotic purpose my father doesn't allow me to be intimate with people, but Blaise and I met a couple of years ago and we've been very close since. He's the only person in this world I trust. They—or to be more specific, his father—are going to live here temporarily until Mr. Zabini's job is done," Draco explained breathlessly. Oddly enough, he sounded _happy_. But just as fast, the light in his eyes went out.

"It'll be unbearable. We'll finally be close and Father's going to have an eye on me nonstop. He already suspects something."

"Wow. Malfoy has a secret boyfriend. Never saw this side of you before. Stud muffin, huh?"

"Shut up; I guess I can get along all right. He's mature, handsome, and already knows his father's business so he can inherit directly after he graduates from Hogwarts…and…"

Draco stopped in mid-sentence, unsure of whether to dispense any further information. On the other side, Ron stared at the oak door expectantly, eventually demanding what he was about to say.

"Let's just say I have experience."

"…Experience in what?"

"…I stopped being a virgin a year ago."

A loud splash indicated Ron's absolute shock. He was a few months older than Malfoy, so it didn't even matter. However, it was still a bit unpleasant to find out something like that. Well,…Ron just lost his, but it wasn't out of consent. Draco willingly _gave_ it away! Therefore, Ron had to say something. News such as this did not go without comment. Although it might come out as tactless, it was within Ron's course of thought that Draco deserved any thoughtless remark he got. And that statement was:

"You slut."

"Stuff it, Weasley. I didn't do it for kicks. I did it because it was the right time. I may've been a little young, but I felt it was time…and it didn't hurt, either. He was _so_ gentle…"

"Ew! Too much information, Malfoy! Why're you even talking to me about this?"

"I can't quite put my finger on it, but you being here instead of Hogwarts puts me at an advantage. Without Potter around, I feel more at ease. I mean, I know you don't get many offers, but you have to know what it's like to truly be in love. You'd have to be pathetic not to have felt it at least once in your life…uh, you _do_ favor boys, don't you, Weasley? Otherwise this conversation was totally useless."

"I said it once and I'll say it again. Your demented father left me alone and naked in a bed. I wasn't particularly glad of it, but I do tend to look nowadays. Even then, after last night, nothing will faze me anymore."

"Good. Here then. Another thing about Zabini is that he's ambitious. He doesn't want to inherit the alchemy trade unless he can find someone to marry. Some nonsense about security, companionship, and liability. The point is that he has his eye on me. I'm willing to do it when I'm old enough, so long as I can find a way to get past my father."

"Your father doesn't seem like the overprotective type. Why's he trying to prevent you from having relations?"

"To be honest, I'm not even sure myself. It's complicated. In any case, I barely see Blaise anymore, so this'll be a golden opportunity for us…and that's why I'm about to ask you a favor."

"So we've had this entire talk so you could ask for a stupid favor?"

"Hear me out! All I want you to do is distract Father as much as possible. I know it sounds hard, but at least try and keep him away from my business so I can spend more time with Blaise. Be by his side every hour, on the hour, or at least as much as possible when Father doesn't call on you. You only have to do this until he leaves, and it may not take that long for Mr. Zabini to finish his project! Please!"

"_Fine_," Ron consented, wrapping a towel around him. "Now get out so I can dress."

"I hate to admit it, but I owe you," Malfoy resigned, strolling out of the bedroom again.

(End Chap. 6)

Draco: That's it?

Me: I just couldn't get it to stretch. The good stuff's coming later. Next chappie's about Ron's first attempt at being a professional servant. The Zabinis are coming to dinner, you know!

Harry: I got a bad feeling…

Ron and Me: Why?

Harry: Voldemort's planning something "_very_ important". I wonder if it's poison.

Me: Oh no, Harry. Something much worse…well, see ya until Chapter 7!

(Scene fades out, and you hear Harry and Ron saying, "What's worse than poison! Tell us, please, Kim-chan!")


	7. Delectable

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Harry and Ron: (still grumbling because I won't tell them what Voldemort's plan is)

Me: Ah, get over it. Besides, today's supposed to be somewhat of a lighter chapter. This time around, Ron's going to attempt cooking! The question is whether or not he picked up some of his mom's habits at the Burrow's kitchen. Will he be able to please Lucius or incite his wrath yet again?

Draco: Ew!

Me: What?

Draco: This is a Lucius/Ron fic, right? Then _please_ try to refrain from asking questions like "Will he be able to please Lucius?". Innuendo is more than a fancy word, you know.

Me: Riiiight…roll Chapter Seven! (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 7)

…Ron's new wardrobe was a simple white overgrown man's blouse with stiff black pants that strangely fit him to perfection. Next were his socks from a couple of days ago, then a pair of clunky, loafer-like black shoes he could slip into. Ron had to fold the sleeves over his wrists, the shirt was so large. One button he left unfastened to expose a hint of his pale collarbone; Draco passed on the message that this minor dressing detail was to be required of him at all times. When Ron asked for a reason, the elusive blonde shrugged and mumbled something about "Father's damned fetishes" as he led their new servant to the kitchen.

As the pair meandered through the corridors of the manor's labyrinth, the redhead took quick note of the usage of dreary, royal colors for the walls and ceilings, the immense scale of everything. So much aged wood and metal, the delicate curtains of cobwebs and dust collecting everywhere, so many rooms going unused…

_Why in hell do they need this much space, anyway? It's just Malfoy and his dad living here…and it used to be his mum. Three—well, two—people don't need twenty-seven rooms!_, Ron chastised in his head.

However, he tried not to let his memory fail him and kept looking around, searching for any hints that would help him navigate around the manor. From now on he would have to adjust to wandering these multitudes of dark hallways, thinking that he was probably going to have to clean them all up eventually. What he could surmise for certain thus far was that everyone's rooms were on the second floor. What was on the third floor, Ron could only guess. The first floor contained the carpeted foyer, the grand stairs at the front, the parlor, the sitting room to the left, the kitchen in the very back, and the dining room up front connected to it. The last room was where Draco left Ron to deal with the boss himself.

"Just follow the back wall and you'll see a small door. Father's waiting there. Good luck, Weasley. After last night, you'll need it," Draco teased, running back upstairs.

Now he was standing alone, and Ron swallowed nervously. The memories rushed back with crippling speed. It had been only one unpleasant night, but he was wise enough to deduce that nothing good would ever come out of him and Mr. Malfoy spending any extended amount of time with each other alone. What if another incident was to occur? Scared out of his wits, yet not wanting to make Lucius wait another minute, Ron stepped through the door-less threshold that heralded one's entrance into the dining room.

It was one-thirds the scale of the Great Hall at Hogwarts at the very least. A long table of ornately carved and polished wood stood in the very middle, its finish starting to fade with the years. Four high-backed chairs were strategically placed around it. Unlike most of the house, varnished planks of dark-colored wood furnished the floor instead of fleecy carpet. On the other side of the table, two vaulted windows showed a picturesque view of the surrounding forest, with sunlight illuminating the dull finish. There was a candleholder set in the middle of the table with no candles in it, nor any silverware or place mats.

Ron slowly walked up to the door next to the stone hearth at the head of the table, vainly hoping that he wouldn't have to be in charge of setting the table.

The second he stepped into the kitchen, he was thankful to be wearing shoes. The floor was cut stone, absorbing the morning chill. Out of all the places in the manor, the kitchen had to be the most unappealing. Renovations had been made here and there, but for the most part, it had the allure of a medieval castle kitchen.

Just as Draco said, Lucius was there, standing near the big oven. Ron was taken aback for a moment, since this was the first time he saw him without his formal cloak, leatherette gloves, or cane. Icy eyes scanned him up and down, determining whether he was dressed according to his specifications. In no time at all, those eyes rested upon the one unfastened button with delight, signaling for the rest of Mr. Malfoy's body to come closer. In reflex Ron stepped back, but to no avail. A punishing grasp upon his shoulder not only prevented him from escaping, but also forced him to stand within an inch of the older man.

"So far, I'm pleased. I see Draco gave you my strictest instructions to leave one button undone. You didn't expect me to so graciously clothe you and not ask for something in return?" Lucius asked cunningly, tracing a bare fingertip across the exposed skin. Ron shuddered, feeling it travel downwards towards his chest. Thankfully, the uncomfortable moment only lasted like a moment should. Satisfied with a brief touch, Lucius turned him loose and gave him a nudge towards the antique cooking equipment.

"Your first duties of the day are to always rise at eight and prepare breakfast until otherwise warned in advance. One thing you can stop worrying your pretty little head about is that you need not serve us in bed unless one of us is sick. After our infernal house-elf broke two serving trays and half of Narcissa's chinaware, we felt it safer to come downstairs ever since…you do have experience with cooking, don't you?"

Ron blanched. Until now he hadn't given a thought to it. _These people don't even cook their own meals!_, he panicked.

"Uh…um…well, a bit. I saw Mum do it hundreds of times," the redhead assured, although a quaking feeling still resided in his stomach. It was the truth that Ron had watched many a time when Mrs. Weasley dominated the Burrow's kitchen. The dilemma was if he could actually remember what she did to keep the family so content at mealtimes. The only culinary talents he could claim as his own were making tea, coffee, and toast.

"Then I'll leave you to your work…and one last notice. Failure to satisfy me will result in a later punishment."

With that disconcerting reminder, Lucius left.

The once-confident young servant was now literally shaking with fear. He had anticipated all the other predicaments of being in servitude except cooking. If he failed miserably (which, admittedly, he usually did), there was punishment to be had. What was worse, Lucius hadn't prescribed any _specific _punishment. It could've been anything, even…

"Not that! I won't go through that again!" Ron yelled aloud to no one. Listening to the answering silence and feeling foolish, he marched over to the pantry and opened cabinet door after cabinet door. After picking out random ingredients, he went to the cold storage and peeked in there. A few more choices, some utensils, a heated stovetop and oven, and Ron Weasley was ready to throw caution to the wind.

"I guess I'll just have to be creative. If I know wealthy snobs, I know they'll want something rich, but light. Let's just hope I come up with something edible."

…A shrill tune of a bell echoed throughout the manor. Lucius and Draco threw open their doors and shuffled downstairs to discover the source of the persistent melody. At the threshold of the dining room stood Ron, standing proud despite his overwhelming anticipation. A patch of flour dust whitened his fiery hair; miniscule burn marks reddened his fingers.

"Breakfast is ready, sirs," announced Ron brightly, wearing nothing short of a forced smile. He had to be polite, even if they were the Malfoys. He stepped aside to reveal his handiwork.

The table and the candleholder were polished, the curtains raised to let in a bit of sun and air. The table was even set in two places, to the best of Ron's ability—he had tried to remember how the tables were always set at Hogwarts. But the main objects to be judged were the choices of food. Miraculously, Ron had found a stash of fruit somewhere; he took two oranges, rinsed them, sliced them in a pretty pattern on tiny dishes, and dusted them with sugar. There was tea with milk, lightly toasted wheat bread with butter, eggs, fried ham delicately sliced, and a concoction involving melted cheese, bread, more butter, salt, and an inventive arrangement of meat.

"If anyone needs me, I'll be doing the dishes," Ron piped up quickly, taking advantage of the father and son's total amazement. He nearly ran back into the kitchen to hide, partly because he really did have to do the dishes. For making a light breakfast, he could sure make a mess. The other reason was if this did turn out to be a flop, he would have a slim but better chance of running for it.

…Silence overtook the dining room. Ron had been done with washing utensils an hour ago, keeping the water warm and soapy for the impending breakfast dishes. His curiosity annoying him to the breaking point, he barged into the dining room only to find no one.

"Well, isn't that some kind of ungrateful. I don't care if I am only their servant; they could do with some courtesy," he muttered, picking up the dirty dishes and stalking back and forth from the table to the kitchen. "Then again, maybe they hated it and are waiting for the right moment to let me have it…no. When Mr. Malfoy's angry, he lets me know—"

"And when Mr. Malfoy's pleasantly surprised, he lets you know, too."

En route back to the kitchen, Ron jumped in surprise and stopped himself from breaking a plate in the nick of time. Setting it down, he looked up to see the aforementioned man. To Ron's immense relief, a calming half-smile was on his face.

"Your mother certainly taught you a thing or two," he complimented.

"To be honest, it wasn't really my mum. It was just dumb luck. The last thing I know how to do is cook…but hey, at least you liked it."

"Let us hope your luck holds at dinner tonight. As you may know, we're expecting the Zabinis to stay with us for a while, and the first impression is the most important. You're his collateral, so it wouldn't hurt you to prove your worth to him. Can I be assured that you can attend to two more people?"

Still a bit shy from the rare acclamation, Ron kept his head down and nodded, then heard footsteps. The next time he looked up, Lucius was standing near him again. A strong hand cradled his chin, tilting his face upwards.

"And about us 'having courtesy'—"

Ron cringed. He knew it was too good to be true. He wasn't aware of Lucius hearing the complete episode.

"—I cannot speak for my son, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt me to express my gratitude."

Slightly bending down, the older man interlocked his lips with Ron's. Shocked, he tried yet again to run, but one of Lucius's arms retained a firm grip on his back, holding him in place.

Suddenly, the unspeakable happened.

Ron didn't make an attempt to resist.

They were odd thoughts to have, but it was so strangely comfortable, Ron even began to question himself. Exactly what motives drove him to run away from Lucius Malfoy every time? He certainly couldn't forgive him for the appalling incident the other night; he wasn't sure he would _ever_ be able to forgive Mr. Malfoy for that. There were also the impersonal confrontations between him and Harry, but Ron was developing enough of a mind of his own to not carry his grudges for Harry's sake. But it wasn't that one thing which happened between them last night. There was another underlying reason why he was so unyielding to the man's allure. The first thing that popped into his mind was the age difference. Mr. Malfoy was pushing forty-three; Ron was just now sixteen. A 27-year gap left much to be debated. Then again…was the age gap really such a big issue? Not to mention, the kiss felt real good about now…

No.

This man was Voldemort's most trusted follower next to Peter Pettigrew; Ron was his nemesis' best friend. Even if age was nothing but a number, the lines dividing wizardkind in this upcoming war was all too real.

Almost without Ron's conscious knowledge, the kiss ended a few seconds later. Lucius softly departed from the young boy's lips to witness a bewildered and saddened expression. Inner conflict overtook him, and he was lost in thought for a while. A bit concerned, Luicus touched his chin a second time. Ron finally snapped to attention and stared into his eyes. The ice had melted away, leaving only the warmth of a mortal man's eyes, and yet…and yet this seemingly mortal man was forbidden to him. Always would be.

Excusing himself from the awkward scene, Ron sprinted back to his bedroom, leaving Mr. Malfoy to wonder what exactly got into his beloved servant.

(End Chap. 7)

Draco (holding tissues): As the son of Lucius Malfoy and the enemy of Weasley, I probably shouldn't even be sympathizing with this fic's coupling, but I have to admit, that was sweet and sad at the same time! Does this mean no happy ending?

Me: I didn't say that.

Harry: So there _will_ be a happy ending.

Me: I didn't say that.

Draco: So it'll be a sad ending!

Me: I didn't say that, either.

Ron: Will this infernal fic even end at all?

Me: It's not for me to say. But I will say this: next up, the Zabinis are coming for dinner and their extended stay at the Malfoy Manor, and you won't believe what happens! (Draco: I GET SOME!) Also: will Ron make an equally scrumptious dinner! Until Chapter 8!


	8. Some Kind of Proposal

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Harry: So what was with the gracious gift of updating with two chapters?

Me: Because our phone line (and thus my only way to access the Net) has been on the fritz, and I am notoriously lazy. In other news, I'm happy to be introducing my version of the Zabini family, either in this chapter or the next one! My muses worked long and hard to give me inspiration for good, realistic descriptions. Therefore, I have presents for them, too! For Harry, a diary to vent out your homicidal rage.

Harry: Yay! I HATE THE WORLD SO MUCH! (gets weird stares) Sorry. (starts furiously writing)

Me: For Draco, three jumbo bags of Gummi Bears!

Draco: Yay!

Me: And especially for Ron, who was willing to suffer, a Hermione plushie!

Ron: Woot! (grabs it and hugs it. I snicker to myself because he doesn't realize that it has a spell on it…)

Me: And as a present for myself, reviews and Dr. Pepper! Rolling Chapter 8! (clicks the remote and sips)

(Begin (the new) Chap. 8)

_...My God, what is wrong with me? This sure as hell can't be love. I absolutely do not love Malfoy's father…then why do I feel so broken-up inside? I mean, I've only been here a day, and people don't fall in love that quickly, especially teenage boys and middle-aged men. Although…I admit…having long blond hair is quite the statement. I'll give Mr. Malfoy that much. And his eyes…a few minutes ago, they looked totally different, like he really felt something for me. I must've had a real stupid look on my face._

_Then again, I'm not all that attracted to girls anymore. Sure, I get curious now and then, and Hermione and I used to have this on-again, off-again fling going, but…there was something missing._

_But why Lucius Malfoy, of all people? He's a Death Eater! I can't forget, it was him who kidnapped me and took me here…and I sure as hell can't forget..._

_The pain inside me, him lying on top of me—everything about that night was wrong. I didn't want my first time to be like that, so quick and cheap with a guy twice my age. And that's another thing! He's so older than I am! How could that possibly work out?_

_But, somewhere inside, I don't care. I definitely feel it. All I want is to make up my_ _mind…or..._

_Wait. Could this be his trick? Tricking me into falling for him so I can probably cuddle up to him and tell him all of Harry's deepest secrets? I can only imagine what'd happen if I fell for it. Harry's been getting rather irritable lately; I hope it doesn't have anything to do with me becoming prefect._

With a fresh determination, Ron drew himself up from the mattress. He had been lying in his room for a long duration, trying to discern these newfound emotions welling up from inside him. It was probably love; Ron wasn't afraid to give the possibility a shadow of a doubt. But even if it were, the coming war further complicated things. Lucius Malfoy was known to lie, steal, and cheat. After the escapade down in the Department of Mysteries last June, that particular fact was true, too.

"I've already made a lot of mistakes, and I'm not about to make another one. Harry, Hermione, and my family's at stake…it's decided. No matter how mixed-up I feel, I won't let myself fall into his little game," he decided aloud. "It'll take a lot more than that for that bloody Death Eater to fool me."

"Fool you how?"

Ron hastily turned around to see Draco standing in the doorway for another countless time. His arms were folded, as was the young Malfoy's usual custom. Not getting a response, Draco walked fully into the bedroom, then abruptly peeked out into the hallway in both directions before closing the door.

"Did you need anything?" Ron asked mockingly.

"Only for you to tell me what's this business going on between you and Father. First he makes mad, passionate love to you—"

"It wasn't mad and passionate! It was quick and frightening!"

"—then he demands that you wear your shirt like some shoddy little paramour he sets on the side for his disgusting self-gratification, and now you're mumbling about him trying to trick you. I have a right to know what's going on in my own house."

"You know as much as I do that your father still and will always work for Voldemort, even if Harry wins this war. He's trying to get me to fall in love with him, or at least start to pathetically hang on him, and if it's for anything personal I know about Harry or the Order, he can forget it! Besides, even though we've been friends for five years, I still don't know as much about him as he does, and it's only gotten worse since—"

He stopped himself, for he was about to say 'Sirius' in Malfoy's presence.

"—since another close friend of his died recently."

"It wasn't Granger, was it?" asked Draco.

"No. There, and I know you're disappointed to hear it."

"Well, I hate to bring down the curtain on your childish detective work, but if these actions of Father's are tricks as you claim, don't you think he would've made an attempt to be more—oh, I don't know—subtle? After all, this is seduction you're talking about, not full-frontal lust...which _this_ obviously is."

Ron was quiet for a moment, actually considering Malfoy's advice for once. Then he confessed.

"He tried to apologize to me earlier this morning, and thank me for making breakfast, so…when I was cleaning the dishes, he stepped into the dining room and complemented me. Then he caught me off-guard and held me close with one arm, and—"

A pause. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"And…then he kissed me. I don't know what came over me, but I didn't run. I just stood there. I got confused and scared, so I ran up here to clear my mind," he explained. "If you were me, you'd know what I'm talking about. When he stopped and looked at me for that brief moment, there was something completely different about his eyes, something soft and likeable."

"Did you say 'soft and likeable'? Weasley, that wasn't a damn teddy bear you were snogging! This is my father we're talking about. A feared and respected wizard and Death Eater, and you're telling me he's soft and likeable? Humph. Maybe he _is_ pulling a fast one."

"Well, he isn't gonna get to me, and that's that. Anyway, do I have orders?"

"As a matter of fact, you do, which is the reason why I came here. Father was busy with something in the private library, so he called on me to find you," the blonde boy informed. "He was acting so oddly, sitting at his chair and reading as if nothing else mattered. He actually seemed kind of _sad_."

Draco took a leaf out of Ron's book and paused in deep thought. After a few seconds, he waved it off.

"Well, hopefully Father'll be able to pull himself together in time for the Zabinis' arrival…speaking of which, there's two rooms he'd like for you to clean out for them. Mr. Zabini's room will be two doors down from Father's in the north wing. Blaise's will be next to mine in the west. So you don't get lost, remember that your room sits at the edge of the east wing; the south wing is directly connected to the main stairs. There's about five corridors in the north, three each in the east and west, and about two in the south, not including the smaller hallways and shortcuts. Got it?"

Reflecting upon what Draco said, Ron took a moment to absorb it, then nodded.

"Right then. Your cleaning supplies are in a closet down in the kitchen."

Ron sighed and plopped back down onto the bed, conserving his strength for the upcoming work. "At least there's no huge flights of stairs to climb, and it'll keep me busy."

"As if you have other things to do around here," criticized Draco, opening the door and walking out backwards. Ron's face was buried into a pillow, so he didn't see it, but he audibly heard his adversary bump into something. Concealing a snicker, he sat up again, ready to playfully ridicule Draco until he saw exactly what—or more precisely, who—he bumped into.

"He knows what to do?"

"Yes."

"Good."

The door closed, and it was just he and Lucius now. A veil of uncertainly pressed upon the bedroom as Lucius wasted no time in taking his expected seat at the bedside. Still reeling from this morning's perplexing events, Ron avoided any eye contact with him.

"The day is still early, and the Zabinis aren't expected to arrive until eight in the evening. I believe there is plenty of time for the two of us to hold a conversation."

"You want to talk about the kiss," said Ron flatly, seeing past Lucius's formalities and cutting right to the chase. Trick or not, he couldn't take either risk. He was going to stick to his principles and resist Mr. Malfoy at all costs. The nice bedroom didn't matter; any compliments given would hold empty meaning. Nothing would faze him now. No matter what, he had to stay faithful to Harry and the Order of the Phoenix.

"If you wish to be so straightforward, then yes, that's what I want. I noticed the look on your face afterwards, and you ran from me so quickly. Is there something on your mind, perhaps?"

Ron shook his head, and suddenly a crashing silence ensued. The same strong hand which had held his face a few hours before now rested atop Ron's, gently pinning it down.

"There is; you're not willing to tell me is all. It is unconventional for a master to be so intimate with his servant, yet I see something in you I've longed to have for so long."

_La la la la la…la la la…I'm not listening! I'm not—_

Ron's obstinate musings were interrupted when he felt a jolting change in his position. He jarred from his thoughts to discover himself laying on his side, with Lucius crawling over him. Immediately knowing what would happen next, he leapt up and only succeeded in clumsily falling off the other side with a loud '_thump_'. Crumpling to the floor, he briefly forgot about escaping and lay still while he rubbed his sore shoulder. A shadow fell across his face, and he scarcely had time to lock eyes with his assailant before he was roughly picked up and thrown onto the bed. A mass of red hair went into Ron's eyes, further delaying another effort to get away. Furiously shaking his head to regain his vision, he saw Lucius standing in front of him looking none too happy.

"You're forgetting your place again. What I ask isn't a suggestion; it's a direct order."

"You said all you wanted to do was talk!"

"I do. There's no harm in becoming acquainted in the meantime."

"Look at me! How can you be so damn obsessed with me! Are you mad? I'm a Weasley! I have red hair, blue eyes, I'm not all that good-looking, and I have more freckles than I know what to do with! Plus, you're twice my age! It'll never work out!"

"There's another reason you left out, the real reason you don't wish to submit to me," Lucius pointed out.

Ron stopped cold in his rage, knowing exactly what the older man was hinting at.

"That you're a Death Eater? Yeah, there's that, too. It'll always be lust and never true love. I can never trust you. Never. Even if you do love me like you say you do, you'll always love power more than anything. You never cared about anyone other than yourself. Admit it: isn't that why you hired me in the first place? For kicks? Isn't that why Mrs. Malfoy left you?"

The second after the preceding inquiry, Lucius's hand lashed out and grabbed Ron by the throat, pulling him up close until only thin wisps of oxygen could've been capable to pass between them. His expression had changed from mild exasperation to murderous animosity.

"Listen to what I say, you dirt-scrawling, disobedient child. It was of Narcissa's own will that she considered stepping foot out of my house, and I say good riddance! You think I _wanted_ her? You foolishly believe my ambition drove her away from my side? There was nothing but trouble from the day I married that deceitful harlot! It was only for our families' expectations, the glory of receiving an heir. After that she was a useless leech, destroying everything I held dear! You can have the pride of being right in one fact: that I've never known love before, but don't _ever_ jump to the conclusion that I loved Narcissa!"

"Ah ha!" choked out Ron.

"What?"

"You just proved my point! You have so much pent-up frustration from an unhappy marriage that you feel the need to take it out on me!"

What occurred next was peculiar. Lucius instantly released his seize on Ron's throat, dropping him back on the bed. As Ron coughed and tried to catch his breath, the lethal grimace on the older man's face was thoroughly wiped away. He dropped his arms to his sides and turned away, dwelling on a particular thought in his addled mind. Unfortunately, Ron's victory didn't last long.

"You believe you're such a clever wizard, don't you? Then answer me this. Why would I be so asinine as to dispense my wounded emotions on a little boy if I didn't hold the better judgment that there was something special about him for me to be attracted to in the first place?"

_I hate it when they use these big words! This is why I tune out from Hermione's conversations half the time_, Ron complained. He conjured up every memory he had of the definitions of the complex words, then figured out what he was trying to say. _So he's saying that if what I say is true, then why would he be so stupid as to just randomly choose me as his lover in the first place…damn, why didn't I think of that?_

The prolonged silence allowed Lucius to assume a victory of his own.

"I agree that I didn't marry my wife because of love. It was just expected to be. I did admire her grace, but after a period of time, she began to be wearisome. She shared my views about the imminent clash between wizards and Muggles, but abhorred the times when the Dark Lord would call on me at all hours of the night for covert missions. She was especially distraught after Draco was born, and I could sense that our marriage wouldn't endure for very long," he said, now sitting close to a mystified Weasley. "Ever since my Hogwarts years, women were frivolous and didn't hold my interest in the least. However, my family wouldn't hear of it. Back then, I did what I had to in order to please everyone…even if it meant denouncing what I truly was."

"Rough," Ron simply condoled.

"It may seem like a spur-of-the-moment affair, but believe my word it isn't. You remind me of the one that got away when I was about your age. In my final year as a Slytherin, there was someone I had an eye on—a couple years younger, no real division. By the time I felt ready to express my emotions, however, Narcissa had returned from her schooling in Beauxbatons, and I went back home to face my wretched existence. Besides, he already loved someone—a girl in his own House."

"That sucks! So it was an arranged marriage?"

"Not exactly. I had met Narcissa at a social one summer and talked to her quite a few times. There was no real basis for a romance, and somehow she got mixed messages. Both of our families supported all the arrangements. I liked her, but not as a future wife…and now that she's finally gone, I feel unrestricted for the first time in years. Therefore, you face a decision. You can choose to trust me and give me a chance, or drop the whole affair and forget everything that was said here. Either way, I'll still expect indulgence from time to time until your family pays your debt," he explained.

"Wait a minute! If you really do love me, then you wouldn't force me to have sex with you!"

Lucius stopped at the threshold on his way out, but only to reply.

"There's a difference between meaningless sex and actually putting heart and soul into the process. If you want to take the risk and be my lover, you'll learn the difference soon enough. Right now, what is expected of you is nothing more than a mere duty. The question is, do you want to make it more than that?"

(End Chap. 8)

Me: Finally! If this chapter gets out late, then it's my fault. I had to make it sound exactly right. Sorry, guys, but the dinner will have to be pushed to the next chapter. But hey, you'll be in for a treat—figuratively, that is.

Ron (in the distance): AAAHHH!

Harry (looks at me skeptically): Kim-chan…

Me: What makes you immediately suspect I did something?

Ron (storms up): Is this your idea of a joke, Kim-chan! (in his hand he holds up what used to be a Hermione plushie, but over the course of the chapter, the spell made it gradually morph into a Lucius Malfoy plushie)

Draco: That is sooo cute!

(Me, Ron, and Harry give him weird looks)

Draco (nervously): Uh…

Me: Anyway, there's something y'all might want to remember closely for later. Look up where Lucius says, "You remind me of the one that got away when I was about your age", blah-blah…and then he says, "Besides, he already loved someone else—a girl in his own House."

Harry: Is it anybody we know?

Me: Maybe…all I know is that the reviewers better not guess! But yeah, it is someone we know…until Chapter 9!


	9. Righteous Deceit, Pt 1

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: That last set of ending author's notes was pretty long. We have so much humor and so little time…

Ron: Those of us who are actually funny…

Me: Oh, you're still not sore at me for turning Hermione into Lucius, are you?

Ron: Damn right I am! It's just like the time when Fred turned my teddy bear into a spider! One minute I'm hugging a cute, cuddly version of my crush, and then I notice that a strand of her hair is blonde. Then her eyebrows get bushy, and her robes changed…it was terrifying!

Me: Oh, I dunno…(picks up the Lucius plushie)…I think it's kinda cute! Right, Draco?

Draco: Shut up.

Harry: You do remember that you belong to me, right? You belong to me!

Me: "Belong"? S & M much, Harry? Anyway, we're on to Chapter 9 and close to our landmark Chapter 10! Rolling! (clicks the remote)

(Begin Chap. 9…the NEW one this time!)

…7:04 PM.

Somewhere within the north wing, an embittered Ron Weasley rubbed all manners of dust and cobwebs off of himself. Patches of soapy water stained his oversized shirt. He had spent the last few hours performing just about every task imaginable, cleaning up the two rooms reserved for Callisto and Blaise. No one had used those rooms in years; they were so filthy and cluttered. Wiping windows, beating out the curtains, washing and drying bed sheets, gathering all potential courage to exterminate spiders and sweep out the webs they left behind, sweeping, dusting. To think he had to attempt cooking a presentable dinner afterwards! If it weren't for the ancient innovations of magic, what would he have done?

The only bright side to his spent drudgery was that he could step back for a moment to admire his handiwork. That was always the rewarding part. The two rooms now exceeded living standards; you could've eaten off the carpets.

Ah, right! Speaking of eating, he had to clean up and prepare dinner.

…8:05 PM.

The main course was finishing its time in the old oven. In the meantime Ron hunted around Lucius's private dressing room for a new outfit. At the last minute, he chose a dark blue shirt—still oversized and unbuttoned at the top—with black slacks which he had to iron himself. He was thoroughly exhausted, but he couldn't help but notice the little things out of place and straighten them up as well. Draco was sitting nonchalantly on the grand staircase, cantankerous as he stubbornly pulled at a starched sleeve. Everyone was pressed to make a good impression, so everyone in the house found their second-best apparel to wear. The blond teenager was wearing a dark green suit with a crevasse, with a flowing cloak accentuating the whole outfit. The two of them were waiting for Lucius, who was meeting the Zabinis at the convergence point in the outskirts of Wilshire.

"I did want to look my best for Blaise, but this damn shirt feels stiff as a board," Draco whined. "I'll ask you to go easy on the iron next time."

The redhead tiredly nodded, prepared to fall asleep standing up. Draco huffed, then suddenly sniffed the air. Something was close to burning.

"Uh, Weasley? Dinner?"

"Huh?" He sniffed too. "Oh, bloody hell!"

Ron seemed to Disapparate around the corner as the doorknob began jingling with a brassy tune. Draco stood up and walked primly down the rest of the stairs to meet his company. He sniffed the air again and sighed inwardly. Ron saved the dinner; he must be laying out the table by now.

The door swung open, and the first person to walk in was none other than Blaise. Seventeen and close to pushing eighteen, maturity exuded from his whole being. His glossed raven hair was two inches shorter than Draco's, stopping short at the nape of his neck and the top of his ears, naturally straight and falling into many sharpened bangs around his gray eyes. That particular feature was what Draco feared and loved the most. His eyes held some sort of bewitchment (for lack of a better term). When angered, they took on another, more menacing definition. His skin was a tint darker, but nevertheless pale. He was also more than three inches taller than Draco, stopping short of Ron's height. Blaise looked like a lightweight, yet behind his layers of black clothing was an agile bodily frame only the Quidditch-playing Harry Potter himself could match. One could certainly say he was handsome. However, something deeper than appearances forced other admirers to keep their distance. As they said around Hogwarts, when a Slytherin is claimed, you knew it right away.

Callisto Zabini was just as mysterious as his son, albeit more talkative. Standing next to Lucius, it would seem apparent to the untrained eye that he was a few years older, but it wasn't because of age. The revered science of alchemy was an exact and grueling art a wizard or witch only perfected by getting it wrong a few times before. It was stress, and not time, that carved the wrinkles into Callisto's face. A curtain of dark hair fell around his face and shoulders but did not hide his eyes, which were a haunting green. Yet his movements were swift and youthful, as was his tone of voice.

Blaise swept past his father and stopped at the foot of the stairs, coming face-to-face with his secret lover. Draco regarded him with a soft stare and an out-of-character grin.

"It's been so long," he whispered.

Draco maintained a surprised breathlessness, giving Blaise the full force of his affection. A second later, he exchanged stares with a wary Lucius, who was beginning to catch on again. Getting the message, Draco reverted back to a frown and offered his guest a stiff, formal welcome. Blaise quickly looked over his shoulder to see what the blonde was reacting to. Narrowing his eyes at the barrier in their relationship, he turned and walked even closer.

"We won't have to do this for long," whispered Blaise, coming closer and rubbing a fingertip under Draco's chin. The still-stiff boy glanced longingly at the other's lips, trying his best not to touch them with his own.

"I'm thrilled to be living here at your manor, if only for a few weeks or so. A tad small, though."

"Our manor is large enough, thanks, and if you're thrilled about simply being here, try not to hyperventilate when I say your room is upstairs next to mine."

"Really? Wonderful. That makes it all the more easier. By the way, where's this new servant of yours Dad keeps gabbing about? The Malfoys have certainly moved up to be getting a human servant and not a house elf."

"It's not like we hired him. Since we can't pay your father right now, this servant will stand in as reparations. I know him from Hogwarts. As much as I hate saying it, he's not bad. Better than that incompetent elf, at least. He should be done with dinner."

_And let's hope he pulls his end of the deal._

…8:50 PM.

Ron heaved a satisfied breath as he rinsed the last plate. Dinner was over, and luck had run with him a second time. Who knew that the basics of soup, more ham, vegetables, and salad would go over so well? And this time he witnessed their pleased faces for himself: Ron didn't have a chance to hide in the kitchen this time. Lucius kept him at his side throughout the entire meal, and he had to stand there and hold his breath for over half an hour as he and Callisto discussed 'business'—if you could call clandestine meetings and minor raids upon unsuspecting wizards and witches business. It was astounding how they could talk freely about their enterprises with the Dark Lord around him. The Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic would die for the knowledge that passed through Ron's ears in that short period of time. Some pieces of the dialogue were humorous. It seemed like Wormtail was notorious for being a snitch and a kiss-up, thus the scourge of every other Death Eater's existence.

After dinner was over, Lucius told Draco to show Blaise his room and Ron to fix two cups of tea as he moved his guest to the parlor for more talk. This was Ron's next lesson: was it possible for this habitually klutzy boy to balance a small pitcher of milk, hot tea, two cups, two spoons and a tiny bowl of sugar on a silver plate? Fortunately the answer was yes, and Mr. Zabini was impressed with both the service and the flavor.

With that minor task and the dishes washed, Ron wandered into the entrance hall, thinking yet again. It seemed that he had little else to do around the house except wait for orders, carry them out, and become lost in unorthodox thought. Then again, there was much to think about…

_Just what did he mean by that? "There's a difference between meaningless sex and actually putting heart and soul into the process"…does that make it any less wrong? We'll still be our ages and we'll still hold our grounds in the war no matter what our reasons for hopping into the sheets are. I'd think I'd have chosen 'no' by now; it seems to be the obvious answer…so why the bloody hell am I still considering his deal?_

"Weasley."

Ron turned about, a second away from snapping on the person who dared to break his train of thought, and then realized it was Draco again.

"Father sent me to tell you they need more cream…and make _extra sure_ it's good cream," Draco requested with a peculiar, strained tone of voice. In his trademark cynic's tone, he added, "With me running back and forth to tell you things, it's like _I'm_ the servant."

Ron was about to complain, but he was cut short when Draco narrowed his gaze and gestured as if trying to remind him of something. Oh…yes. Ron remembered. The decoy plan was in motion.

"I guess it's "Make Sure Malfoy Gets His" Time now," he teased.

"I said drop it!" Draco hissed.

"Whatever you say."

…Ten minutes was all he could spare. Not even Lucius, who saw his presence nothing short of irresistible, could risk having his personal servant so close to him at all times, especially if that certain person was in league with the Order and the boy who was rumored to bring ruin to Voldemort's empire in a single stroke. Lucius feared he already spoke too much in the dining room. Besides, how long could Ron stay there and pretend to be an ideal servant, tending to their every need and refilling cream dish after cream dish? So when Mr. Malfoy turned his head and glared pointedly, Ron took it as his cue to leave. It was probably a good thing he had to, because Callisto took the opportunity to request a drawn bath by the time they ended their conversation.

As he climbed the back staircase, Ron interpreted Mr. Zabini's request as two possibilities. Firstly, if he wanted a bath now, then it wouldn't be long before the parents also came up for bed. That would put Draco and Blaise in a delicate position if they weren't careful. Secondly, there was a bright side. Maybe they'd come up and go right to bed, and on top of that Lucius always needed Ron's attention during his nightly preparations. Ron paused on the second-to-last step and flinched. Hopefully, there wouldn't be anything else he'd need tonight.

He reached the landing and checked his direction. Taking the smaller, hidden staircase near the back kitchen door led one directly to the west wing, and he thanked his unconscious decision to take it. This would make it easier to get to Draco, but he had to go to the north wing first.

But it was also an unpleasant scare to find Draco lurking around the next corner.

"Malfoy, this house is too big and dark for you to just stand there quietly," Ron complained, a hand over his heart like a frightened old woman.

"I ran into Blaise, and he said he was going to bed shortly, but he can't go to sleep just yet. First off, he hasn't run his bath water. That's one thing you can be glad about. He's very independent."

"Take an example," remarked Ron dryly. "Speaking of which, I was on my way to draw his dad's bath."

"After you do, stop by the west wing and run his," Draco instructed.

"I thought you said he could do it himself."

"Not for his sake. You're going to pass on a message—"

Draco stopped in the midst of his sentence, and both boys fell silent. Footsteps and deep voices were heard in the south wing. Ron immediately locked eyes on a small hallway in the distance: a perfect shortcut to Callisto's bedroom.

"This may take a little longer than we thought," Ron commented, already starting to walk away. "Your father wants his bath drawn, too. Why don't you people just take your bloody baths in the morning!"

The blonde rolled his eyes. "Well, be quick about it."

Ron sighed. "Also consider the chance your father wants…to do anything…tonight…with me."

The tiniest flicker of a disgusted cringe was apparent in the younger Malfoy's eyes. "Yes…well, I hope this goes well. The last time we talked was April. You don't know how hard it is to hop in the sheets with Professor Snape patrolling the dormitories every hour or so."

"I know how hard it is to attend Hogwarts, period, with Snape teaching there every year."

That was the last sentence Draco heard before Ron practically ran to head off Mr. Zabini. As if another act in a play was calling for his role, the anxious lover took his place in his bedroom. Truly, Malfoy was grateful for Ron's help, but none of this would mean anything if this play didn't get rave reviews.

…He wasn't sure whether it was the hours of Quidditch practice Angelina had hammered into him in the past year or just plain desperation, but Ron had indeed gotten there before Mr. Zabini, although he had to come up with some heartfelt excuse why the bath wasn't already filled. The amazing thing was that Mr. Zabini believed him. Most likely his success at dinner won his trust.

Surprisingly, Lucius hadn't called for him yet. That left Ron free to go directly to Draco's bedroom where he laid in wait.

"What if Blaise already ran his bath?" Ron asked as soon as he closed the door behind him. Sitting atop his canopy bed, Draco pursed his lips in contemplation. He hadn't figured that out. Meanwhile, Ron was staring in amazement around the room. The curtain of the bed was slightly drawn, giving the bed an appearance of comfort. All candles, either partially melted or new, were lit by the wave of a wand.

"What's next, roses scattered over the pillows?" he taunted.

Normally, this was a prime moment for Draco to snap back in reply, but all he could do was blush.

"My God, you really are in love," the redhead added. But even Draco heard the addition of spite in his voice. He grinned, reserving all gloats for later.

"Anyway, Mr. Zabini's settled and your father's in his room as we speak. It's all clear."

"We'll be the judge of that," Draco retorted. "Now, what I'm about to say will sound a bit odd, but only Blaise will understand this. Listen carefully, and don't ask questions…_if ye have the cauldron of stone, I bear what is needed for creating what be nature's will. Dance in the shadows we shall, and let no harm come to we who sit amongst the fairies._"

"What!"

Draco repeated it in a slower voice, but Ron shook his head. "I got the message. I meant where'd you pull that mystery crap from?"

"Top secret, Weasley," he answered frankly, wagging a finger in his face. "Now get in there before the candles melt."

Griping indiscreetly under his breath, Ron opened the door slowly, every creak enunciated by the peculiar silence outside. No sound from the north wing. Looking back at Draco, who was currently giving him an uneasy glare, the rest of his body ventured out into the corridor and took seven steps to the next door. He tested the doorknob, and found it locked. Grunting, Ron pulled out his wand and risked a few Ministry laws to perform Alohamora and sneak in. He looked to the left and heard the sound of splashing. He had run his bath already. Still, it wouldn't hurt to carry on; he was already here. Preparing to sound like a seasoned pro, Ron marched over to the door and asked, "Mr. Zabini, sir?"

"Is that…um, what was your name?…Weasley?"

"Yeah. I'm the one who cleaned up the room, and I forgot if I put some towels in there or not?"

"I'm all right, thanks."

A quiet stillness ensued as the small talk ended. Now extremely nervous, Ron cleared his throat and recited the message loudly.

"By the way, Draco wanted me to tell you something: _If ye have the cauldron of stone, I bear what is needed for creating what be nature's will. Dance in the shadows we shall, and let no harm come to we who sit amongst the faeries._"

More silence, but this time an apprehensive kind of silence. Finally done with his duties for the night, Ron left the rest in their hands and went to take a bath of his own.

On the other side of the bathroom door, Blaise smiled wryly. He hadn't forgotten after all. He unplugged the drain and climbed out, ready to convene with his prohibited boyfriend.

…Ron walked by Lucius's bedroom with a spring in his step. All through this repetitious day of playing spy, he felt a twinge of satisfaction. Besides, if he were willing, Draco would have quite an interesting story to tell him in the morning. He frowned in discontent, wondering if his own love life would be so picturesque. Could he actually take the risk with Mr. Malfoy? And if his proposal were even serious, surely he'd have proven his love to him by now. Or did it even work that way, especially for a man so imposing?

Suddenly he stopped. At the very least he could check on Lucius one last time before going to bed. He had been exceptionally cold towards him today…

Ron carefully turned the knob and looked into the room. His eyes fell on the bed…and he lost his breath in the next moment. He wasn't there. Regaining composure, he assured himself that Lucius was probably still taking his bath. He walked towards the door off to the right wall, which was left open a crack. Although the scene was evident enough, he had to look around a few times to be sure. The porcelain tub was bone-dry, all the taps left where they were, a spare towel still waiting on a silver-plated rail.

No worries. Maybe he went to Callisto's room. A humorous thought crossed his mind about how much a middle-aged man could gab on like a woman at a downtown London hair salon. A few seconds later, Ron was standing before the bedroom door and requesting for Mr. Malfoy in his most polite voice. Callisto's gruff yet kind voice replied that Lucius had left his room minutes ago. Now Ron was mystified. He was sure he'd come upstairs with Mr. Zabini…

Then he gasped.

Somewhere on the second story, a new act in the play was just beginning…and it was set near the west wing.

(End the New Chap. 9)

Ron: Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no! A cliffhanger! That's the cruelest trick in an author's book!

Me: Heh heh heh. Well, at least I'm more satisfied with the plot. Next up is the LONG-awaited Chapter 10, which had to be rehashed and torn down and rebuilt again and again. (sigh) Now I need to take a bath…and we're still gonna invite a new, random muse to review the fic in celebration of reaching the tenth chapter! Who'll it be? Hermione?

All 2 (minus Draco): Yay!

Me: Lupin?

All 2 (minus Draco): Yay!

Me: Or will it be the man himself, Lucius?

All 3 (including Draco): Boo!

Me: Just wait until the sizzlin' (NEW!) Chapter 10!


	10. Righteous Deceit, Pt 2

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: Woot! It's the 10th chapter at last! Sorry it took so long. We have minor celebrations every tenth chapter, and if we ever go to Numbers 50 or 100, then we're _really_ gonna whoop it up! For now, let us introduce our new muse! (brings out a person under a sheet)

Ron: Hmm…he (or she) isn't short, so it can't be one of our fellow students…and the sheet isn't making a peak at the chest, so it sure as hell can't be Hermi…or any other girl, for that matter. It's an older guy!

Me: (still stuck on Ron's nickname for Hermione) 'Hermi'? (laughs hysterically, and while doing so accidentally pulls off the sheet, revealing…)

: Where in blazes am I?

All 3: (gasp)

Me: Ain't he wonderful! Unfortunately, the readers can't find out until the end of this chapter for legal purposes and fanfiction laws too complicated for mortal minds. Anyway, since this is such a big occasion, we're gonna have _mucho_ drama and _mucho _fanservice! To be honest, it's a little _too_ dirty…but certainly nothing for FF to get hot and bothered about…heh. Hot and bothered…

Ron: Not again…

Me: Yes again, but here's some good news: it ain't you this time. ('casually' points in Draco's direction) So suit up, my lovelies! Harry, Draco! Fetch me the (DUN DUN DUN…) _silver remote_.

(They go and bring back a silver rectangular box. I slowly and ceremoniously open it. Inside, laying on a velvet cushion, is a really shiny remote which can only control every 10th chapter except the 50th and 100th, in which cases the Big Daddy Cruiser Golden Remote is used.)

Me: And now we roll! It was worth the wait! (clicks silver remote, then rubs off the smudge vigorously)

(Begin Chap. 10)

…_That stare. I haven't been in love since my Hogwarts years, but I'd recognize that heart-stricken stare. If my suspicions are correct, our duties as Death Eaters have become much more complicated. I cannot have Draco running around with just anyone, especially Callisto's son. Little does he realize it's for their own good._

Lucius's strong paces carried him through the south wing. By the way his servant acted in the parlor, he knew there was a deeper intrigue running within his own manor. It was as if he was attempting to delay them from going upstairs. But for what reason? Was he afraid they'd stumble onto something unpleasant? Well, his misgivings transcended past tonight's events. Of course Blaise and his father have visited before. In those early years of Draco's childhood, he and Blaise spent many hours together unsupervised. As a Death Eater strict on upbringing, he probably should've monitored him better. There was no guilt in spoiling him, yet now things had probably gone too far. He should've stopped it while he was ahead.

There was a reason he took the long way. As willful as he was, Weasley most likely went to check on him and discovered he was missing. Chances were he was looking for him to further divert him from what was really going on. Oh, no. He wasn't going to be tricked in his own household.

…At the same time, Blaise Zabini was dressed in his burgundy pajamas, looking around skittishly and opening the door to Draco's room. In the nick of time, Ron careened around the bend and roughly shoved him inside. He probably shouldn't have, but he also slammed the door in the process. Startled by the noise, Draco peeked out from the bed curtains to find the two of them piled up on the carpet.

"I don't think you got the hint, so I'll say it more clearly: Blaise's mine. Get your own boyfriend."

Ron peeled himself off of the confused Zabini and helped him up. "You don't understand! I can't find your father anywhere! I think he's on to us."

In silence, Blaise brushed himself off. He straightened his dark hair, then released a tense breath. He crossed the room to join Draco in sitting at the edge of the bed, and gazed at the blonde with haunting eyes. The minute he spoke, the redhead immediately understood how Malfoy fell in love with him. It was deep, trusting voice, hypnotic at the first listen. Not quite a father, but not quite a teenage boy.

"I don't want to sound pessimistic, but he's got a point. As long as I've known your father, I know he catches on quickly. We'd have none of this trouble if you just visited _our_ manor. My father's always busy with his experiments. There may be some smells and explosions once in a while, but at least we'd have some privacy. He—" (pointing in the direction of Ron) "—tried his best, but obviously your father's too smart."

"Zabini, he's never dealt with me before. Harry and I always sneak under the professors' noses," assured Ron. "And he trusts me; he has to. I've been pulling my weight around better than any house elf can. I just wish one of us knew how to Disapparate."

Blaise shook his head. "No, but now I regret not taking my lessons earlier—"

Ron held up a finger. Blaise paused in mid-sentence and listened to what sounded like the quiet one would normally expect from a large and mostly empty manor. There was a tapping sound from the far end of the corridor outside. Lucius Malfoy was closing in. Draco stood up, manhandled Blaise in a brief inspiration of power, and pushed him into the bathroom.

"Stay there until he's gone," he instructed as he closed the door. Then he turned to Ron. "I do hope you have a plan to get us out of this."

"It's your fault," Ron snapped in a quiet whisper. "Why don't you try controlling your rages?"

Draco was about to start yet another argument between the two, until that same tapping sound sounded as if it was right on the other side of the bedroom door. Hearing a rhythmic clanking sound after, the pair turned to see the brass knob turn slowly. In record speed, Draco jumped on the bed and pulled the covers up to his chest. Following suit, Ron had no choice but to pull one of the oldest disappearing acts in the world: going under the bed.

The door opened. From his place, Ron observed a pair of black-loafed feet entering the bedroom. Above him, the mattress was perfectly still. _Malfoy can sure put on a show when he wants to_, he thought begrudgingly. As the feet came closer to the bed, two main thoughts were running through the nervous redhead's mind: he hoped Lucius wouldn't find him under here, or two, he hoped he wouldn't change his mind and check the bathroom on a whim. The smallest of voluntary itches began to dig under the calf of his leg. Ron winced in discomfort, chastising his body about choosing the worst time to have an itch.

"Draco?" the gruff voice demanded. No one answered. Of course; he was feigning sleep. But was he going to be convincing enough?

"Draco!" the voice above said again, a little louder this time. No, he wasn't fooled. _You idiot. You thought this plan up, and now we're about to get caught. Can't even fake sleep, not even after all that practice faking a broken arm in third year._

A rustling was heard, meaning Draco also had to face up to the harsh reality. But even if he had to go down for the proverbial count, Malfoy tried his best to pull off an act in hopes of saving them—well, him and Blaise, anyway.

"Yes, Father?" Draco asked in a drowsy voice.

"Where's your guest?"

Ron's heart almost stopped. Then he heard Draco give a bald-faced lie.

"He stopped by to talk with me for a moment, then he went back to his bedroom. I suppose he's still there and asleep…like I was a few minutes ago," his son added crankily.

"Then where's Weasley?"

Ron literally stopped breathing for a prolonged moment. Draco paused, unsure of what to say himself, then gave a confident response.

"I haven't heard from him since after dinner when he went to serve you and Mr. Zabini in the parlor. He's most likely in his room as well, as absentminded as he is."

Under the bed, Ron bristled. He knew it was for the sake of saving all of them from punishment, but was the touch of Malfoy-trademarked cynicism really necessary?

"Well, I have noticed that Weasley hasn't come by to run my bath yet. If he is in his room, another lesson may be in order. I have my doubts, but I'll check Weasley's room first. Almost three days and he hasn't the sense to carry out his nightly rituals regardless of whether I'm there or not. I told him so yesterday."

Yes, he did, and now the servant under the bed was kicking himself for not remembering. Oh, but what a relief it was when the pair of feet turned around and left…no it wasn't! He was heading for Ron's bedroom, and he was here! A minute was allowed to pass before Ron rolled out from under the bed frame.

"You should've at least said I was downstairs!" he screeched. "Now I have to get there before him!"

Suddenly, almost unexpectedly, Ron had one foot outside the door when he heard a slight bout of laughter from the younger Malfoy. He stepped back and jerked his head to see him cover his mouth, which didn't do much to hide his grin of amusement.

"What's so funny?"

"Thank you, Weasley."

"For what?"

"This went better than I thought it would. I'm starting to be convinced this was more than coincidence that you came here as a prisoner. If you hadn't been our servant, I wouldn't have had a good distraction to keep Father away while Blaise and I spend some time together," Draco explained. "Now that Father's looking for you, he won't suspect us in the least, and if he actually catches you, that leaves us with even more time. Really, what business does a servant—who's in allegiance to Potter, no less—sneaking around a Death Eater's house?"

Taking absolutely no notice of how much time he was running out of, Ron stood there like an inanimate object.

"So you're saying…you used me?"

"Pretty much. Once an enemy, always an enemy, Weasley."

For what seemed like the first time in his life, Ron had no choice but to hold in his smoldering rage. He remembered that Lucius was on the hunt, and he'd save the beating for later.

"I will remember to kick your arse if I _ever_ get myself out of this," Ron hissed. He switched around and slammed the door as hard as he pleased.

Unperturbed by Ron's severe warning, Draco waited a moment, getting a feel for things returning from a tense state. When he was absolutely sure no one was in the west wing, he lazily rose up from the plush sheets and opened the bathroom door. Blaise emerged, but with a dark frown which even made the cold-hearted blond wince.

"What? What'd I do?"

"I heard that, and it wasn't very nice. And after he did his best to get us off the hook. I told you to be nicer."

"You don't understand," replied Draco bitingly. "Not only is he dispensable, but for as long as the Malfoy family name lives on I will not forgive him for what he did in my first year."

"What did he do?" Blaise asked coolly.

"A lot, but it all traces down to our first year at Hogwarts. We were on the stairs and McGonagall was just done talking with us. I'm standing with Crabbe and Goyle, and then I see him and Potter together. Naturally, I introduced myself, and that trollop had the nerve to laugh at me. Like his name is any less stupid. I didn't know Potter had bonded with him in that short amount of time or I would've let things be and ridiculed him later. But no; the two of them had to gang up on me. On top of that, that was my first mission."

"Mission?"

"Father knew Potter would be going to Hogwarts the same year as me. If I had made friends with Potter—and even better, influenced him to be Sorted into Slytherin—I could've made a direct link between him, Father, and Voldemort. We could've ruled the wizarding world yesterday, and Weasley ruined the whole plan! You have any bloody idea how badly I was punished when I went home for Christmas holiday!" Draco exploded.

Amazingly, Blaise had a poker face on, his arms crossed in patience the entire time. The minute Draco was finished, however, all he could offer in consolation was a smirk.

"And what, pray tell, is so bloody hilarious?"

"It may've been as big a disaster as you say it is, but you forget that what is happening under your very own roof at this moment will remedy everything. I mean, Voldemort does have the force of the Death Eaters, but he loathes having to ask for personal help. However, as powerful as he is, Voldemort couldn't deny that he doesn't have the knowledge of alchemy. That, of course, is where the Zabinis enter the picture. I'm going to be busy with Dad during the days because I am now my father's apprentice. Alchemists are rare in this world, Draco. It's a forgotten art. Do you think it's just chance we're in love? When you fall, I pick up the pieces."

Blaise paused, a thought coming to mind. His eyes glazed over, staring into the distance. When the thought was completely formulated, he looked at Draco in a very urgent manner.

"And now I think I've figured out everything."

"What do you mean?"

"Alchemists are rare…of course. Death Eaters, including Voldemort's assistant Wormtail, are required to go on missions at times, whether it's a raid or reconnaissance. There's many risks involved, including capture and death. No matter how diminished the numbers have become, it'd go against Voldemort's grand scheme to risk any alchemists on hand in the line of action, especially if there's a war coming on," he began to explain. Draco nodded vaguely, wondering if the conversation was getting to a point.

"I can be instated as a Death Eater, but I'll be kept out of any missions. On the other hand, if _you're_ instated, that means you'll be constantly risking your life, more so because you're the son of a high-ranking follower. Other than Pettigrew and the Dark Lord himself, your father's very powerful. It's your destiny."

"So the reason nobody wants us to be together—" Draco started.

"—is because we may not be together for very long," Blaise finished. "There can't be love among Death Eaters. It's unprofessional…and pointless. What's the point of loving someone if you know there's even the slightest chance of them dying or getting the life sentence in Azkaban?"

A bombshell had been deployed, and the havoc it wreaked upon the young Malfoy's mind was reflected in his blue eyes. Speechless, he stepped back from the raven-haired Adonis and withdrew to the bed. Reality never hit him as hard as it did now, and this time he couldn't brush it off. Guilt began pressing upon Blaise; he could be blunt, and this time he worried he was too much so. But on the other hand, he was great at improvising situations. Looking at Draco with a newfound fondness, he went to sit beside him.

"It's not so terrible. I said love among Death Eaters is unprofessional and pointless. I never said that was my opinion or that it's impossible. Your father got this far without being killed. Sure he's been caught, but he always comes out."

"That's all good and well for Father's generation, but we're living in an era where the final plan is about to commence. What if it fails and the Death Eaters are disbanded permanently? Then the only thing to hope for is that we either share the same cell in Azkaban or that we're executed together."

"Now you're being pessimistic. Don't dwell on the future. All that matters is now, and right now—although you pulled a mean stunt to accomplish this—we're alone and undisturbed for at least an hour," Blaise hinted seductively, moving closer to Draco's body. "After all, this was your idea. Ron passed on the message; you remembered."

"The library, the summer after our second year. We were bored to death and looking for books to read—bloody books! We were certainly bored," Draco laughed.

"Then I found the green-backed book with poems and spells from 16th-century England in it. It looked interesting, so we read it, and then you found the poem," Blaise went on. "_Under Tree and Shadow_."

"Mmhmm. _If ye have the cauldron of stone, I bear what is needed to create what be nature's will. Dance in the shadows we shall, and let no harm come to we who sit amongst the fairies._ There's more, but I forgot the rest…doesn't matter. We decided from there on to use those verses as our secret message. Even then we were trying to see each other when our fathers' backs were turned."

Blaise looked around. "Candles, huh? All of them lit. You were prepared."

For the umpteenth time, Draco's cheeks turned scarlet. Blaise sneaked an arm around his thin waist and pulled him down into the soft mattress in one quick move.

"Well, let's not waste the wax," he purred.

It never mattered to Draco how many times they went through the exciting routines of lovemaking; there was always the thrill of the initial move, almost always made by Blaise. Tonight started with the young alchemist's chiseled body pressing down on his, with fluttering kisses landing on his neck and lips. Trying to play hard-to-get, Draco squirmed and moved a little, but Blaise overpowered him quickly. The light kisses became more intense and entirely lip-focused as the pair tasted each other. Blaise's thin fingers ran over Draco's hair—something no one else was allowed to do—and Blaise's fingers did the same. The action quickly moved to tongues, once in a while someone's mouth opening to elicit a satisfied moan.

After a few minutes, Blaise got up to move both him and Draco towards the head of the bed. He let his lover's head rest on a pillow, but not before a brief, playful tangle with each other, ending with the both of them shirtless. This next stage of foreplay didn't last long; chests weren't very important. What _was_ important was beneath it, yet it never stopped either of them from soaking in the natural warmth of each other's bodies. Blaise had an exceptionally refreshing aroma because of his bath.

In this moment before the heat of passion, Draco took a moment to think. It wouldn't be long before he and Blaise wouldn't have time to be in each other's arms. Was what Blaise said true? Was there actually a way to escape a bleak future of service to the Dark Lord?

"Drac."

The blonde turned to see Blaise's face less than an inch from his own, plastered with an expression of mystification.

"What?"

"I told you to stop being so sad. You're thinking about our futures, aren't you?"

"It's not like it's a crime," Draco snapped. "I have a lot to think about—wait, let me say that in a different way: _we_ have a lot to think about. 'Now' won't be 'now' for very long. We can't act oblivious forever. I want to spend my life with you, not just a few moments in my teenage years where I have to hide from my father. We need to think of a plan."

"We'll think of a way. It'll take a while, but there just may be a loophole in this…"

…In the meantime, Ron was gasping for air inside the safety of his bedroom. His memory wasn't normally reliable, but he was able to discover two shortcuts to the east wing, barely cutting Lucius off at the pass. He looked disheveled and miserable, but he had to get it together. He did get to the room first, but it looked like it wouldn't do much use. Well, he had to try.

Exhausted, Ron dragged himself up onto the bed and lay flat on the bed, sweaty, miserable and out of breath. His blue eyes traced across the room as he heard the familiar click of the doorknob. Seconds later, the door opened, and a dark silhouette appeared on the threshold.

"Draco told me I'd find you here. I thought you'd remember your lesson from yesterday."

The older Malfoy strolled up to the bed and stopped when he saw that Ron was extremely tired. Now suspicion reigned through his mind.

"If you've been here all this time, why are you so tired that you can't stand? Try to," he commanded.

Ron lifted his head weakly. No thoughts were running through his mind at the time. Like a zombie, all he could do was listen and obey. Listlessly, he got up from the bed and attempted to stand on his feet. Remarkably, he was successful for a few seconds, and then he collapsed. Lucius's arms moved in fluid reflex, catching Ron's body at the right moment. A glint of sympathy showed and passed, burrowing itself into his heart. He took that time to reflect upon his rebellious son. Maybe Draco couldn't be controlled at the moment; life would be his harsh teacher. No matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't be able to escape the Death Eater tradition. Natural force would drive him and the young Zabini apart.

His new philosophy regarding his son wasn't so much a change of heart as it was a change of priorities. His newfound concern would always and forever be this young Weasley. What was so interesting about Arthur's youngest son that it would occupy all his time?

Turning the other cheek on tonight's situation, Lucius let things be. All he cared about now was the redheaded young man sleeping in his arms. Obtaining a suitable grip on his shoulders and legs, he carried Ron back to his bedroom.

(End Chap. 10)

Me: IT'S ABOUT DAMN TIME!

All 4: We agree!

Me: I know it didn't have as much action as I promised, but Draco and Blaise are more of a snuggly couple. (under her breath) Although Draco's something of a manwhore.

Draco: What'd you say!

Lucius: Well, Kim-chan has a point. You sleep with the first person you meet.

Draco: Well, if that was the case, Harry would be my lover in this fic and not Blaise!

Me: (hums suggestively) I smell a fic spoiler…anyway, thank you for waiting so patiently. Chapter Eleven may get kinda weird, and on a side note, Ron was first captured in the beginning of August, after all, so sooner or later Draco, Blaise, and Ron have to go shopping in Diagon Alley. Not in the next chapter, but sometime soon there's gonna be what I'll call the Stand-Off Chapter! There'll be twists, secrets, and surprises! And welcome my new muse, Lucius Malfoy! Take a bow!

Lucius: I prefer to stay sitting.

Me: Eh heh…


	11. Judgments

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: That was the biggest writer's block I had EVER experienced. But now that we've climbed over it, it's time to press on. Hey guys, you think we'll make it to Chapter 50?

Harry: It depends, really. How long is this gonna carry out?

Me: A long time. I won't spoil the ending, but it'll be a hell of a surprise. Let's retrace our steps. Ron was captured in the first week of August during Hogwarts shopping, so there'll soon be a chapter in which they return to the alley. I ain't giving anything away, but Ron will be in for a world of hurt.

Ron: (in the distance) What! (He and Draco had been filling Lucius in on what happened so far, and now they're coming back from whatever dimension they were in)

Lucius: Dr. Kim-chan decided to make a more serious chapter for me. So we know about the love fiasco. Big deal. The bigger question is if the Weasleys will meet my demands, and that's what Chapter 11 is about.

Me: Quite right, Luci. I've been trying to put in some humor since the super-serious chapters of One through Five; now we return to the somberness! This chapter deals with the negotiations, and Harry, it's your first debut since Chapter 1! (I felt bad about leaving the family out…I know how Mrs. Weasley wigs out about her kids.)

Harry: About bloody time.

Me: OH! One more thing. My faithful muses, you won't hear from me from July 4th to about July 17th, depending on how long I need to recover from the jet lag upon my return. So if you don't hear of any updates for a while, there's good reason. (breaks into big smile) I've been taking part in a student program, and now I'll fulfill my biggest dream! Starting on the Fourth of July, I'm headed for Japan for 2 weeks! (Seriously!) Want anything back!

Harry: That super-sweet Japanese candy everyone always talks about.

Draco: A samurai sword! Don't ask me why I need it; I just do.

Ron: Sailor Moon memorabilia!

Lucius: Hmm…I don't suppose you mind bringing back a woman.

(Everyone stares at him and Ron strangely.)

Lucius: What? I hear Japanese women are pretty.

Ron: And Sailor Jupiter kicks ass, all right?

Me: No wonder you two are made for each other. But you know what this means? I'll miss the American premiere of the Sixth Book! (thinks) You know what this also means? The series is almost done! I-I can't believe it! It's terrible! I don't wanna say goodbye to you all! (starts sobbing violently) Harry, just…just start the chapter!

Harry: (sigh) Rolling Chapter 11. (clicks the remote and goes to get tissues)

(Begin Chap. 11)

...Looking beyond that eventful night with Draco, Blaise, Ron, and Lucius, nothing much else of importance evolved from it. Lucius had made up his mind to let Draco see for himself why the love between he and Callisto's son would never be. It was almost a given that Malfoy dragged him into his rendezvous plot, so Ron didn't receive any further punishment other than on the count that he forgot to run the bath water. The "punishment" was only a recurrence of what Ron had already accepted as a routine in his life at the manor. Lucius's affections didn't hurt as much this time, which only confused him further. Did it hurt less because Mr. Malfoy had been gentler, or was it because he didn't mind as much anymore? That'll be a question to discuss later.

Now let's direct our attention to what happened after the very beginning of our story. The day of the Diagon Alley raid had been August sixth. On that late afternoon, the captured Death Eaters were hauled off by the Ministry, and the ones who weren't disappeared as suddenly as they had arrived…

(Flashback)

_...Tom the bartender raised his head up from below the counter, surveying all that was left standing. What were left standing were a couple of tables, some chairs, and the people present. The commissioned Aurors of the Ministry of Magic used Charms to bind the hands of the incarcerated, taking away their wands so they wouldn't try anything._

_Unfortunately for the members of the Order, the situation was urgent enough for Cornelius Fudge himself to barge through the back door. The second he did, he laid eyes on Moody. The retired Auror replied with a challenging glare. As Fudge briefly turned to address the Aurors, Lupin came up from behind._

"_You believe our secret's out?" he asked. Moody grinned cynically._

"_Even if it is, Fudge can hold nothing against us. We're the ones who were doing the work. After all, in these times, we have to protect the innocents at all costs—and him," Moody added after a pause, nodding his head towards Harry. The dark-haired teen was standing alone by the entrance facing downtown London. Worriedly, Lupin left Moody's side to talk to him. The dark-haired boy hadn't moved an inch since Lucius took away Ron. No one else but he and Lupin saw it. _How many more friends do I have to kill or put in danger?_, Harry thought bitterly. _I mean, I know he isn't dead. The light wasn't green and didn't shriek, but Malfoy would still try something. Why'd he take him away and not me? Weren't they after me?

"_Harry," Lupin called out. He turned around, and just as quickly his anger started to rise. That's right…Lupin had held him back…just as he did when…_

"_I could've stopped him from taking Ron!" he yelled. "Why didn't you let me save him? Stop holding me back!"_

"_Stop holding you back? When did I stop you the last time?"_

"_In the Department of Mysteries. I could've saved him—that's why I went down there in the first place! It was a mistake I made, I know, but I had a chance to save Sirius anyway…and you wouldn't let me!"_

_The older wizard was taken aback at first, then returned the roar._

"_You think I didn't want to save Sirius? I know how you felt, but don't let your reputation get the better of you. That scar won't save you from human stupidity. A nice way to thank those who died for you. Sirius only fell through the veil; you had a better chance of being hit with an Unforgivable Curse! Besides, Sirius left us with good intentions. He wanted to ensure your life. Everyone risks their lives to save you, because they love you, so try and use good judgment."_

"_And do I have to sacrifice everything just so I can kill Voldemort! I'm aware of the intentions my mum, dad, and Sirius had, but that doesn't make it any easier. I dare you to say it's easy living on without Sirius—you were one of his best friends."_

"_So was Wormtail. Things happen that seem too much for us. All I want you to do is keep it together—"_

"_I've kept it together for sixteen bloody years!"_

"_Harry dear? Harry!"_

_In the heat of the argument, Mrs. Weasley finally intervened with Mr. Weasley in tow. Both of them had been making sure everyone was accounted for, and Ron was nowhere to be seen._

_  
"Harry, is Ron still upstairs? I thought he was with you," Mr. Weasley asked._

_Harry looked away with remorse. The befuddled parents looked at Lupin questioningly, and he almost did the same. Deciding against it and subconsciously wanting to teach Harry a lesson in handling situations of crisis well, he stared back at the both of them and took Mr. Weasley by the shoulder._

"_I—I'm sorry, Arthur. Ron's with them now."_

_This led to further confusion. "With who?" Arthur asked. _

_But Mrs. Weasley figured it out; a second later she let out a sorrowful, screeching wail that caught the attention of everyone in the tavern. The sound of it shattered Harry's heart, although there was nothing remarkable about feelings of guilt for Harry. Moody immediately deviated from his one-sided "discussion" with Fudge and strolled towards the little group as quickly as he could, an expression of true alarm on his disfigured face. Also really worried, Fudge eventually followed._

"_What's the problem?" Fudge asked._

_Mrs. Weasley was still in tears, but it wasn't enough for her to answer him strongly._

"_My son! He was taken!"_

_Fudge raised an eyebrow and his jaw dropped. "My God, a hostage?"_

"_My best friend," added Harry in a cross tone._

"_This just gets more peculiar! First a raid in broad daylight, and now a hostage situation! What in the world's going on with You-Know-Who's forces? They're becoming totally unorthodox!"_

"_Maybe he's getting overconfident," suggested Tonks._

"_I wouldn't count on it," advised Moody. "Even when war's at hand—especially when war's at hand—You-Know-Who is one to calculate his moves carefully. Not even boldness affects his techniques. I don't even think his orders have anything to do with this. Maybe it's the attitude of his Death Eaters that are changing, not him."_

"_Harry and I saw who was responsible. We were about to go on the offensive, but he used Ron as a shield," Lupin put in._

"_So the kidnapper acted on his own. But still, he may refer to Voldemort about what to do with the boy, and considering his usual methods—"_

_Fudge was cut off by the severest glares from Moody, Tonks, Harry, Arthur, and Lupin, who all subtly nodded towards the continually sobbing Mrs. Weasley. Ginny and Hermione came close and stopped a few feet away. Guessing by the absence of Ron, everyone's apparent bad mood, and Mrs. Weasley in hysterics, it took no genius to figure something was amiss. Ginny looked aside at Hermione with worry._

"_Ron's gone," Ginny said simply. Hermione shuddered, Mrs. Weasley's sobs stubborn in her ears. Despite that, she was trying her best to listen in on the conversation._

"_So who took him?" Fudge inquired, attempting to change his own subject._

_Harry snapped to attention in an instant._

"_Malfoy."_

_Fudge almost choked on his breath, and the rest of the Order's eyes grew large._

"_But—but we brought him out on bail!"_

"_That's what you get for trusting a Death Eater's word, especially in Malfoy's case," muttered Shacklebolt under his breath, he and the rest of the Order finally joining in on the conversation. "Malfoy can and is able to do anything to get out of Azkaban. This makes, what, the second count for him now?"_

_  
Fudge gritted his teeth and looked around at everyone else. This wasn't his only mistake. There was no denying it; Cornelius Fudge had horrible judgment. This certainly wasn't going to help his career. And to make matters worse, another faction had been working under his very nose! Was their purpose to overthrow the Ministry? Power was so easy to lose. _

"_I'm disappointed," growled Moody. "You don't take Potter's word and then you take Malfoy's. Next thing you know, you'll drop your Ministry position and join Voldemort's forces."_

"_And I suppose this little underground movement you're heading is any better. Even as I look around, I see my own workers fighting against me!"_

"_We're not fighting against you. If we wanted to destroy your establishment, we would've been helping the Death Eaters, now would we?" replied Hestia Jones crisply. "The Order is dedicated to acquiring information, making connections, stopping Voldemort, and protecting the one destined to do so at all costs. Think of us as a helping hand."_

"_You're so paranoid about your job, you're blaming the wrong people," added Vance matter-of-factly. "But this wasn't about politics in the first place. It's about safety, and first thing's first. We have to get Molly's and Arthur's son back."_

"_I will not be made out to be a fool again. I came to be the Minister fully committed to eradicating Voldemort, and I'll be the one to finish the job!" declared Fudge. "Your Order can go along masquerading as vigilantes, but from here on out the Ministry will take care of the negotiations. Interfere with us, and I will not overlook this infraction any longer. Arthur, Molly. Rest assured that you will have your son back as soon as I will it."_

_With a dignified swirl of his cloak, Fudge turned to leave the Leaky Cauldron. After a few moments of silence, Tonks sniffed in disapproval. _

"_What is it with him? He thinks everyone's out to get him."_

"_Can't really say. There's probably a lot of reasons," Shacklebolt answered. "But I'll say this much. If we can't trust Cornelius Fudge with a Death Eater's incarceration, we can't trust him with a human life…"_

(End Flashback)

...Time had passed since, and it was now the night of August ninth. Two days earlier, the Weasley family had received the ransom note in the form of an owl sent to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. During a particularly raw morning, the ominous eagle owl swooped in, abruptly dropped the note on top of the parlor's fireplace, and left again. Moody took this as a good sign; the owl had left too quickly to observe anything, and even if it had, it probably wouldn't have remembered much.

Lupin handled it first to observe the handwriting. He couldn't discern it, so he handed it to Mr. Weasley. Arthur recognized it as none other than Lucius's and read the note aloud. They were demanding 1,500 Galleons for Ron, immediately leading the Order into a total uproar. A full-blown conversation wasn't needed to realize the Weasleys were in a bind. And so, those two days passed by at the House of Black with meetings discussing exactly how to get the money; August ninth was a day of particularly heated discussion.

It was late afternoon, the sun fast disappearing from the distant London skyline. In the renovated kitchen, the members of the Order sat or stood around the table. There was no friendly tea this time; just straightforward debate about getting the money.

"Did the note even say what they want the gold for?" asked Tonks suspiciously.

"Unfortunately not. On that point alone I don't trust them as far as I can throw the lot of them," criticized Moody, his electric blue eye traveling every which way. "Who knows what they'll use it for? Most likely to finance some scheme."

"And demanding ransoms isn't their usual way of doing things. Like Fudge said, it's unorthodox. Whatever they're up to, they must be desperate," replied Tonks sarcastically.

"Doesn't Malfoy have money? He's one of the richest Death Eaters they have on hand," asked Emmeline Vance, twirling her fingers around thoughtfully.

"From what I hear in the Ministry, they froze his assets in Gringotts," Mr. Weasley answered bitterly.

"I could wring his neck for letting Malfoy go out on bail. Are they bloody mad?"

"They were pretty strict about it, though, which is the point I was about to make. Not only did it cost over five thousand Galleons to set him free, but they placed him on house arrest and used all sorts of Charms to cordon off all the fireplaces in his house so he wouldn't be able to use Floo Powder," Arthur rattled off.

"What? No tracers on his owls? No other magical restrictions on his mansion? No more raids on his house to make sure no other Dark Magic artifacts are left standing?" Tonks teased. "I mean, this is Lucius Malfoy we're talking about. Why not go the whole nine yards?"

"Money talks, I guess, and right now it's telling us we better get the 1,500 soon. Who knows what that devil's doing to my boy?" exclaimed Molly, glaring around the room and nearing tears again.

"The note said no harm would come to young Weasley, didn't it?" Elphias Doge put in.

"Like we're really going to trust every word Malfoy says, let alone writes."

"Do you think we should leave it in the Ministry's hands? Fudge actually seemed to mean business," Lupin suggested, "and we can't risk losing the Order."

"No! I don't care _what_ that imbecile said!" yelled Moody. "That would upset our plans, and besides, I don't trust the Ministry anymore. After trying to silence Potter and setting free a madman, you'd put young Weasley's into their hands? They may go all gung-ho and attempt another raid on the manor without any negotiation. Arthur and Molly may never see their son again—and Malfoy sent the letter to us, not the Ministry, meaning he knows about our doings and wants to settle this on a personal level. The Order has to take care of this, no matter what the costs. Even if he shuts down the Order, he can't shut down the individuals."

After some thought, everyone nodded in stern agreement, and Moody appeared satisfied.

"I also know it's not the proper time to be an opportunist, but you think Ron would also have some inside information?" he added. Everyone's ears perked up, and they stared directly into Moody's irregular eyes. "Ron might've caught a thing or two which would be beneficial. If that information fell into the hands of the Ministry, there's no telling what they'd do with it."

"But be advised, Alastor. He's a prisoner, not a guest. Lucius might've already thought of that," said Lupin.

"Well, actually he's a servant _and _a spy."

Then everyone's attention turned to Jones. She had the note in her hands and had turned it over to discover a smaller note inside a perfectly hidden crease in the paper. A smile lit up her face as she gave it over to Arthur.

"Your son's a clever one, he is," she said. "He must've sneaked another note inside Lucius's."

Arthur looked at it intensely, grinning for the first time in days. "It says: '_To Mum, Dad, and the Order. I wouldn't worry so much about the money. I'm being used as collateral, so I'm a servant for the Malfoys. Don't worry. I'm being treated well, and I found out a lot. They hired an alchemist named Callisto Zabini, and they need the money to pay him. We'll be in Diagon on the 12th, but we'll be in Knockturn first. Maybe I can sneak a talk. But it'll be too risky to escape. You'll only be able to see me. Say hi to Harry and Hermione for me, and tell them I'm fine. Ron._' Well I'll be!"

"You think we should tell them now?"

Moody nodded. "Goodness knows Potter needs cheering up. Who wants to deliver?"

Before anyone could say a word, Molly snatched the note from her husband's hands, skipped towards the stairs and down a corridor.

(End Chap. 11)

Me: It's not a two-part chapter, per se, but I'll continue this in Chapter 12. The flashback just took so dang long. I just hope I'm capturing the mood of the books right. If I understand this correctly, no one's feeling too sorry for Fudge—

Harry: Damn straight.

Me: And I hear he's getting replaced in the sixth book. That will happen in this story as well, but since we don't know who it is yet, let's get it straight right now that I never intended for this story to be compatible with the Half-Blood Prince. I know it won't be Mr. Weasley, so I'm going to use my own best judgment…we're using that word a lot in this chapter. That's why it's the title.

Lucius: Who do you think it'll be?

Me: I'm not giving anything away! (mutters) But it won't be Dumbledore, either.

Ron: Well, that gets rid of two prime candidates right there!

Me: Oh, I have something up my sleeve…(smiles) Now, who wants to help me pack? The next chapter may be my last update for a while. Then I'm bound for the East!

All 3 (except Lucius): ME! (we start dragging out suitcases and clothes)


	12. A Tale of Two Alleys

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: (weighs one of the suitcases, and finds that it weighs 206 pounds for some strange reason…and that it's breathing heavily. Sighs, unzips it, and dumps out Draco) For the last time, you can't come with me! Like a lightweight blond Brit's gonna get past Customs.

Draco: (whines loudly)

Me: Don't make me sic your father on you. (points to Lucius, who waves)

Draco: (shuts up)

Me: Good, let's continue. I should've written about the Weasleys' side a long time ago. It is a negotiation, after all. I was just caught up in the rapture of setting up the L/R drama. If I do stop here, however, it'll be a cruel thing to do.

Ron: Why?

Me: Because this chapter happens to end on a BIG cliffhanger. But if I can find the time between now and July 3rd, we can probably find a way to update Chapter 13 before I cross the Pacific. So, for good measure, this will be a very long chapter. Besides, who's gonna be on FF.N for the Fourth of July?

Lucius: Desperate depraved fanfic authors who have no other plans for your American holiday than to sit at the computer, wasting their lives away?

Me: Um…well, I wouldn't put it that way…anyway, I don't wanna rush, though. We gotta make this fic top-notch! Hey, where's Harry? (turns to my abnormally large duffel bag and hears it making muffled sounds) Good grief. Rolling Chapter 12! (clicks remote) Dammit, Harry, you're smashing my Game Boy Advanced!

(Begin Chap. 12)

…Mrs. Weasley walked up the rickety stairs with the greatest care. She was overjoyed about her son, but she didn't want to get Harry's hopes up too high. The covert letter he wrote was crumpling in her hands, she was so excited. Reaching the landing in no time, she eyed the third door at the end of the darkened hallway. That was Harry's room for the time being. Hermione's was on the next floor. She walked briskly towards it and was just about to turn the doorknob, but then she heard voices, mainly Harry's. Should she listen in? It sounded important. Remembering Harry's "delicate" emotional output as of late, she decided to listen first before she entered.

On the other side of the door, there was indeed a conversation taking place, and it also concerned Ron. Harry was doing most of the talking, with Hermione scarcely getting a word in edgewise.

"A hard choice. Defy the Ministry or pay the ransom?"

"There's no choice," Harry spat out. "It's been two days. They're taking too long making a decision. It doesn't even require that much thought."

"Harry, we're all anxious to get Ron back, but try and be realistic. No one here has that kind of money to give up in such a short amount of time."

He stopped in his pacing and took a long, smoldering look at her. She knew what he was hinting at.

"Except you, of course."

"Exactly. I did it for Fred and George, and I can do it again. My parents meant well, but it's not like I have a use for all that money."

"Why don't you save it for your life after you graduate from Hogwarts? After all, they left it for your security—insurance, so to speak," she urged. "Our times as adults are coming upon us. The years before we get jobs in the wizarding world will be the hardest, especially for you. You'll need a place and a life of your own—more so if you get married and/or have kids—and we're pretty aware the Dursleys won't let you live on Privet Drive the minute you turn eighteen...or seventeen. Depends on how much they tolerate you."

"In that case, they wanted me out when I was left on their doorstep…I just can't take this waiting!"

"I'm pretty sure he's fine. He isn't much in emergency situations, but I'm sure he's handling himself well. I mean, it's Draco."

"And his father."

Mrs. Weasley finally took it as her cue and opened the door.

"Hello, Harry, Hermione. We were talking about Malfoy's terms for the umpteenth time," she said casually, and sighed. "1,500 is a lot. That's about more than we won on our trip to Egypt."

"Why won't the Order let me pay the ransom? I have enough," Harry burst out.

"Because your parents left you that money and we don't want you to worry yourself sick over this. I know you two are best friends, but he's also my youngest son. We'll settle the negotiations one way or another no matter what it takes," replied Mrs. Weasley firmly. "Besides, I have wonderful news. Look what we found folded in the ransom note," she gushed, giving the letter to Harry. Hermione walked over from the other side of the room and peered over his shoulder to read it, then saw a sight she hadn't seen in months: Harry smiling.

" 'Can't handle himself in emergency situations'? " he reproached.

"Fine, so I underestimated him," Hermione pouted. "We'll see him on the 12th then…but he doesn't specify a meeting place."

"We'll look for him when we go to the Apothecary to get our Potions supplies. That's one of the items we forgot to get after the raid. It's pretty close to the line between Diagon and Knockturn." A long pause.

"What's the matter?"

"It'll be hard. He says he won't be able to escape. All he can do is talk to us until we officially get the money…and what if Mr. Malfoy catches him? It'll jeopardize everything. Mrs. Weasley, it wouldn't be any trouble!" Harry said, bursting into a plea. "Please let me get the money from my account. We can do it on the same day!"

Mrs. Weasley was about to refuse his help a third time, but then she took a leaf out of Harry's book and paused in thought as well.

"To be honest, personally, I don't see the problem," she confessed, throwing up her hands. "We only don't want you to have more than you can handle what with the war about to begin and the recent...unpleasantness. It was Moody who first objected, not me. But if you feel so strongly about this, then I guess you can take it up with the rest of the Order…and to warn you ahead of time, you'll need some strong arguments to convince Alastor, Remus, and my husband."

Shaking her head, she left. Harry fiddled with the piece of parchment, reassurance coming over him as he glanced over Ron's scribbling handwriting. Three days…no, it wouldn't take so long to wait.

"I wish they'd trust me more. It's only money."

"It's not the money they're concerned about. It's your state of mind, and I don't blame them one bit. As of late, every time someone's in trouble you have the urge to try and make everything all right because you feel it's your duty. You don't have to solve everything—just make sure that when the time comes, you're the one to be left standing, not You-Know-Who. That's _your_ job."

"Oh, and caring about my friends isn't?"

Hermione took a deep breath, almost on the brink of insanity herself. Lately holding a conversation with Harry was like negotiating with an enraged giant.

"I didn't say that. Harry, let me make this perfectly clear. We—meaning the Weasleys, Dumbledore, the Order, and me—don't want you to stretch out your neck so far you get it chopped off. Mr. Moody and Professor Lupin aren't purposely trying to aggravate you. They just don't want you to get hurt or die. If you're running around solving every little thing, you're only going to make Voldemort's job easier! That isn't what your parents and Sirius died for. Leave the sacrifices to us!"

This only raised Harry's ire further.

"If that was meant to cheer me up, then it didn't. I already know about their sacrifices. Dumbledore always telling me about how my mom left me her legacies, finding out what Lupin and Sirius knew…even last year, when Aunt Petunia revealed what she knew. Everyone was keeping secrets from me, doing more harm than good. Everyone told me how my parents were satisfied with death, everyone telling me Sirius didn't become a ghost because he left us for the right reasons. You tell me a thousand times to be happy, but I'm not. Cedric had no intention of saving me; he was in the wrong place at the wrong time! Ron was trying to save his family, and Malfoy used him to his advantage. There's no sacrifice there, no love. I do not go looking for trouble! It comes for _me_, and it's damn determined to take down everybody else with me!"

"Harry…"

"So I have to lose everyone I love because of a prophecy? Who'll be next then? Lupin? The Weasleys? _You_?" He stood up. "I don't _care_ about good intentions! Good intentions don't bring your parents back to life! They don't make you feel any better! You're still alone!"

"Harry."

"And let's say I do destroy Voldemort. What happens next? A few congratulations, some celebrations, maybe a dedication. But there will still be dead people, people who will never see their families again! There may still be psychos like Wormtail running loose who may lead a second revolt and finish what Voldemort started! Sirius died because of that? All he did was make me _miserable_!"

And that's when her last straw was broken.

…On the first floor, all the adults had heard were some shouts, then silence, then someone stomping back to their room.

…Upstairs, Harry was left alone with a bright red bruise on his face. There was scarcely enough time to witness the tears before Hermione stormed off. Utterly stunned, he sat down upon his mattress. In the corner of the room, Hedwig had been a bystander the entire time, placidly cleaning her feathers. As soon as Hermione left, the snowy owl cocked her head and gave a sympathetic glance.

"Don't feel sorry," Harry replied quietly. "That was coming to me."

…August twelfth arrived.

As mentioned before, no wizard or witch who ventured into Diagon Alley three days ago truly had a chance to buy everything they needed for the coming school year. Upon their cautious return, the atmosphere seemed the way it was before. The only change was the occasional Auror stationed at some of the shops, and four of them in and around the perimeter of Gringotts. Despite the lingering possibility of another raid, Moody voted not to accompany the Weasleys and Harry this time around, but for extra measure he let Shacklebolt and Tonks go. As for Hermione, she left the House of Black the day before, promising to meet up with Harry again—not for his sake, but for Ron's.

Shacklebolt stayed behind in the Leaky Cauldron. Tonks, always being the adventurous one, went ahead through the portal in the brick wall. The shopping arena was full and bustling again asit always was during the summer,yet everything was awhole notequieter. People were more fearful. It wasn't the Aurors; they didn't impose such a threatening presence and they didn't have to. Merely knowing how fast and brutal the Death Eaters could strike now was terrible enough.

All this notwithstanding, Harry pulled out the list from his robes and checked off the items.

"We won't be here long. Books and potions ingredients are all that's left."

Tonks leaned down and whispered,"Where'll Ron be?"

"Hopefully near the Apothecary. That's one of the only places where Ron would be if he wanted to come up from Knockturn. Trust me, I've been there before."

The young Auror squealed in half-horror, half-admiration. "What's a wizard like you doing down there!"

"Floo Power incident—nothing more. Anyway, we're going to Flourish and Blotts first to get the books, find Hermione, and get out for our rendezvous. You coming?"

"Yep. I remember the plan. The second we leave Flourish and Blotts, I go back to the Three Broomsticksand wait. If Malfoy does happen to find Ron missing, you wouldn't want me making things worse. Meanwhile, Ginny, Molly, and Arthur are headed to Madam Malkin's."

Then Tonks withdrew to Mrs. Weasley before they made their departure. "It'll be all right. Those two are the cleverest ones I ever did see."

The redheaded woman nodded, looking over Tonks' shoulder.

"Yes. Just make sure to tell Ron we'll get him back as soon as we can," she said despondently. Tonks offered a cheery smile for support before grabbing Harry by the robe and practically dragging him off to the bookstore.

…The sun filtered down with a thinner veneer upon Knockturn than it did in Diagon. Questionable stores snaked themselves around the cracked, dirty, and thin cobblestone strip. Whether it was natural or on purpose, the depraved sunlight befit the mood of what some could call Diagon Alley's darker twin. For the past week, it was more crowded and noisier than customary. Around many corners, in many dim-lit alleys, wizards and witches of a more evil nature discussed the raid with gusto. Some of the gossip taking place was criticism; more of it was praise.

Standing by a shop selling hard-to-find ingredients to be utilized in Dark Magic, two hags and a wizard were doing the same.

"About time the Dark Lord did something bold. We can't skulk around the Ministry anymore," the stringy-haired hag croaked. "Fudge isn't a match for the Death Eaters."

"He was too bold if you ask me," the wizard responded, adjusting the lapels of his olive-colored robes. He was also a Death Eater, in his mid-thirties. "I'm just gracious I had other duties that day. What's he planning now that requires throwing caution to the wind and letting his followers be captured?"

"A distraction?" guessed the second hag.

"Possibly so. I wouldn't put it above Voldemort to be resourceful in such times. I heard from somewhere there's a covert operation within Azkaban. If a Death Eater is ever captured and they possess even the slightest credentials, then if the bail can be paid they're given favor and released. The system works better if the person seeking release was just a Death Eater serving behind the scenes—you know, never used any Unforgivable Curse on a fellow wizard or witch. If they did, however, then everyone realizes it's a lost cause. Voldemort deems them disposable and moves on. He can recruit more followers on a whim. There goes his best follower now."

The three snoops glimpsed in the direction the first hag was pointing. In the midst of the cobblestone avenue, Mr. Malfoy was strolling along, staring straight ahead with the ubiquitous, snake-headed cane in hand. Next to him, Draco was trying his best to keep up.

"I don't get it. He has money, he pleaded the first time to avoid prison, then he was caught, then got out completely without Voldemort's help, _and_ he has a son to succeed him if he can't be released next time. I'm surprised Malfoy isn't the Dark Lord himself, or at least tried to overthrow him. I wouldn't put it above him to try—"

Then all three were silenced as they saw a redheaded boy close on Malfoy's heels, carrying a package and looking none too pleased.

"He's not a Malfoy, I presume?"

"Of course not. Looks like a servant," scoffed the wizard. "Must've finally gotten rid of that wretched elf. But a human servant? Who keeps human servants in this day and age?"

"Malfoy's always been old-fashioned."

"Having a human servant isn't the issue. In a way, it's not uncommon for a wizard as rich and behind in tradition as Malfoy. The question is why he'd choose such a young, lean thing."

The wizard took a closer look as the little entourage disappeared into another shop across the way. In a moment of inspiration he snapped his gnarled fingers.

"I recognize that boy! I used to frequent Diagon, and two years before I saw him with…"

He stopped in awe.

"For goodness sakes, who?" both hags asked impatiently.

"Harry Potter. The one who defeated the Dark Lord. I swear to you that boy's his closest friend!"

"What!"

…A few minutes later, the group had departed from the shop front to pursue other interests. Lucius, Draco, and Ron finally left the one they had entered and started in the direction of Diagon. Ron looked up to determine the time by the sky; it was still high. He could still get away to meet with Harry, but how?

Suddenly, Lucius stopped. He swung out his cane behind him, and Draco almost fell over trying to stop himself. Ron stumbled in his wake, desperately holding on to the package he was holding. For one, every time he moved it he heard the tinkle of fragile glass. No punishment would make up for breaking whatever was inside. It was an extremely important parcel addressed to Callisto Zabini that the alchemist asked for Lucius to retrieve. It was from an anonymous source, received in discretion from the most sinister apothecary Ron had ever seen. (Then again he never had been to Knockturn Alley.) He knew that at least half of the ingredients on the shelves had to have been outlawed by the Ministry.

With a particularly tense expression, the blonde man peered tentatively into the alley and cursed silently when he caught sight of the Aurors.

"The Ministry's raised security in the Alley. I won't be able to walk in there lest I raise suspicion."

"But the Ministry doesn't know whether you were part of that raid last week," Ron defended. Draco looked at him in wonder. He was actually taking up for his captor?

"Be that as it may, Weasley, I have a record. Give me the package; you'll just have to accompany Draco to Madam Malkin's and Flourish and Blotts. Draco already has his money, so be quick about it."

Ron didn't hear what he said next because Lucius pulled aside his son to whisper it in his ear.

"It'll be your job to make sure he doesn't leave your side. Most likely the Weasleys returned to finish their shopping as well, and some of the Order could still be lurking around."

Draco nodded, Ron handed him the package to hold, and Lucius sent the two on their way. They walked very quickly, with Ron leading, and as soon as Lucius was out of sight they were running full-force in the direction of the bookstore.

"Why are you in such a hurry!" Draco snapped.

"When your father sent the ransom note, I wrote another note and sneaked it on your owl to tell my friends and family I was okay. I also said I'd meet them today somewhere near here. I just hope they haven't left yet—"

"And why should I help you?" he asked haughtily, snatching back his arm from the other boy's grip. "Father told me to keep an eye on you, and I intend to keep that promise or I'll catch it."

"_Why_ should you help me? Two words: Blaise Zabini."

"You're _blackmailing_ me?"

"Damn right. I did you a favor—even after you tricked me—so I expect you to return it. I'm pretty sure Mr. Malfoy won't be happy that you're swapping snogs with Mr. Zabini's son, and don't think I'm bluffing. All I want to do is see my friends, and Mr. Malfoy isn't even around. He's back in Knockturn hiding from the Aurors. You really suppose he'd be stupid enough to walk around here with so many?"

Draco took a quick, nervous glance around, then gave in.

"Fine. I'm going to Madam Malkin's if you feel like coming back. He catches us together and I can just say goodbye to Blaise."

The pair then resumed their race in opposite directions. Watching them disappear out of sight was the same wizard in the olive robes who was conversing with the two hags. He couldn't hear them talking over the din of the crowds, so he made do with their body language.

"Yes, that's him, all right. The boy Malfoy brought back to the Riddle Mansion. I should've remembered: I was keeping watch over the door that night. So the young Weasley's a hostage and working for them in lieu of payment. But where's he running off to?…I don't like the looks of this. This could turn into an incident. As a fellow Death Eater, he should very well hear from me."

He walked back into the shadows of Knockturn to find his comrade.

…"You see him yet?"

"He wasn't at the Apothecary. He has to be somewhere nearby."

It was hard work traipsing around Diagon Alley with a couple of loads of parcels in the August heat, searching diligently for a friend who could've been anywhere. Harry had declared it a lost cause to waste time running back to the Three Broomsticks despite Hermione's stubborn reasoning. The two still hadn't quite recovered from the argument a few days ago.

"We still haven't looked around Ollivander's," Harry muttered, "and every minute we lose we're putting Ron's life in more danger."

"Then he isn't in any more danger," Hermione said cynically, pointing towards an enclosed space between the wand shop and another building near it, fortunately in close proximity. Ron was standing there, patiently waiting around to see if his friends would show up. With both speed and silence, Harry and Hermione jogged over. There was a brief moment of unbridled jubilation, then Ron got down to business.

"Mum's not weeping or anything like that, is she? I _still_ remember how she was carrying on about Percy, and he wasn't held hostage."

"She's worried—your dad, too—but she isn't exactly acting hysterical. At least, not like three days ago," Hermione ensured. "Our question is how _you've_ been."

"Like I said, fine. I'm their servant now. It was our arrangement."

" 'Our'?" inquired Harry, arching a dark eyebrow.

"At first, Malfoy wasn't going to wait for very long, but I convinced him to let me work for him as collateral," Ron explained. "Even then, I don't know how much more patient he can be."

"Only until next week," Harry responded cheerfully. "I went into my account today and pulled out the amount we need, but it took a hell of a long time to get Moody and Lupin's permission. The Order's finalizing the terms as we speak."

"Great…"

Harry and Hermione stared at Ron incredulously. It didn't sound like he was very glad about being released.

"Uh oh," whispered Hermione. "I think he's developed the Stockholm Syndrome."

"Stockholm what?"

"It's a psychological condition that usually happens in instances of hostage situations or times of war. It can happen whether it's between an individual and his captor or a country and its captor or captors. Stockholm Syndrome is what happens when the prisoner starts to identify with the captor, specifically if they've spent an extended amount of time together."

"You mean he's actually beginning to like serving the Malfoys?"

"Not 'like', exactly," Ron said defensively. "It's just that my life's more comfortable there. You wouldn't believe the bedroom Mr. Malfoy lets me sleep in, or the bathroom. I got new clothes. I do chores, of course, but nothing real different from what I do at the Burrow…except for the disgusting stuff I had to in the garden…and cooking. I have to cook for them two times a day. They don't really eat lunch except when they want to."

"About these new clothes," Harry interjected. "Do you have to wear them so off the shoulder?"

Ron peered back at the shoulders of his oversized shirt, which was a scarlet red today. It was about to slip off his right shoulder completely. He blushed and pulled the sleeve up.

"There's the problem. You didn't fasten the last button. You always dress so slovenly," disproved Hermione.

"No. Uh…I have to keep the last button unfastened. It's one of his rules."

Hermione looked perplexed. "What kind of rule is that? Apparently the shirts he's giving you are his old ones. They're too big for you. And I don't think he cares if you get dirty or not."

Ron was now blushing the same color as his shirt. He wasn't telling them the absolute truth. He couldn't tell them what the unfastened last button represented.

"You got too quiet all of a sudden. There's something you're not telling us here. Did he do something to you?" demanded Harry angrily.

"No."

"If there is a problem going on, you can tell us," coaxed Hermione.

"It's nothing I can't handle until next week. It's no big deal, honestly."

"So there is something."

"Just drop it, okay?" Ron asked irritably.

"Now I'm really worried. You're getting mad at us for no reason…and what kind of person asks their servant to leave their shirt hanging open—?"

The air seemed to stand still as a click went off in her head.

"Ron…"

"I swear it's nothing!"

"What?"

"Pardon me for even entertaining the notion, but does Mr. Malfoy ask you to do that for his personal purposes?"

"What're you getting at?" Harry asked her in astonishment.

"Look, there's a bruise on his wrist right there."

"No it isn't! It's nothing!"

"Whether I ask you now or Draco at Hogwarts will make no difference to us, but we're going to find out sooner or later. It won't do any good to bottle up whatever's going on. You want to make it easier on yourself and confide in us, or do we have to confide in Malfoy?"

By way of a fantastic coincidence, the blonde veered around the corner at the greatest speed, his blue eyes wide and darting around frantically. He finally caught a sight of Ron, dashed over, and clutched his arm with one hand while balancing his packages in the crook of the other. Harry undid the grip and nearly pinned Draco to the wall.

"All right. What's going on?"

"What _will_ go on is that both Weasley and I are going to get it if he doesn't hurry up!"

"What's the matter?" Ron asked him.

"I don't know who tipped him off, but I was leaving Madam Malkin's and I saw Father by Flourish and Blotts, looking around. Then he saw me and asked me where you were. I said I sent you to get me an ice cream—it was the best excuse I could come up with—and that you weren't back yet. He called me a liar…well, not that I wasn't, and said someone told him they saw you leave my side and head towards the Leaky Cauldron. Now he's trying to find you! Leave it to a bloody Weasley not to take good advice when they hear it!" Draco yelled with furor.

"He's coming this way?" Hermione said fearfully. "Harry, we have to get out of here!"

"I can't leave. I want to talk to Malfoy in person."

"Go, Harry," Ron assured quietly but firmly. "I can take the rap. It's not like he'll kill me."

"He may as well," Draco murmured.

At the end of the alley, a shadow tall in stature fell over the brick wall parallel to it. Wasting no time, Ron pushed his two friends out of sight just as Lucius appeared around the bend. Ron's stomach dropped heavily, and he almost keeled over. All Draco could do was look down, a fretful whiteness washing over his already-milky complexion. There was a bit of anger burning in him, but the real pinch in the plan was whoever informed against them. _I wonder who it was…_

Since neither of them was daring to look into his eyes, they heard the tapping of both the cane and his feet until it stopped cold in their ears. They couldn't see him, but they could certainly feel him…him and his culminating wrath emanating from his entire being. They were more than prepared to get the lecture of their lives, Ron more so because he had experience with his mother.

And yet, all he said was: "If you two are quite finished with your little meeting, it's time to leave. Draco, did you get everything?"

"Yes."

"I have it in good faith your mother's sending your things to the manor, Weasley."

"Yes."

"Good then. Come along."

The tapping commenced in the opposite direction. The two peeked to see his flowing black cloak getting smaller and smaller. Draco nudged Ron and they solemnly followed.

"Well, that went wonderfully."

"Don't count your blessings yet," Draco reprimanded begrudgingly. "When you're his son, you can tell when he's very angry."

"So what's with the silence?"

"…When he's too angry for words. You're about to learn the hardest lesson of them all, Weasley…"

"And that is?"

"Never cross my father's path."

(End Chap. 12)

Ron: Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, _oh no!_ You can't stop here! What's gonna happen! Oh great, he's gonna kill me! Wait…crap! He's not gonna do that again, is he!

Me: There's good news and bad news. The good news is that he'll be too upset with you to do the Horizontal Bedroom Limbo. The bad news…well, it'll be ten times worse than the Horizontal Bedroom Limbo.

Ron: (faints)

Me: (whispers aside to Lucius) He does that a lot. Don't mind him.

Lucius: I kind of feel sorry that I have to punish him in the next chapter. It won't be anything cruel, will it?

Me: I can't promise anything. Let's just say this story's rating has and always will be a precaution just in case.

Draco: I can't _believe_ he got me into trouble, too! Stupid Weasley! (pouts and gripes in the corner with his Harry plushie)

Harry: When did he get a plushie? I want a plushie, too! Everyone has plushies but me!

Lucius: I don't have one. (hides a Ron plushie behind his back)

Me: Stay tuned for Chapter 13!


	13. Thirteen Strikes

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

(It's been two weeks. A door in the corner opens, showing me with all my luggage, wearing a shirt that says "I (Heart) Tokyo!". I set down the bags and walk slowly in, trying not to be noticed…until…instant mass glomping session!)

Harry: Kim-chan!

Ron: Thank goodness you're back! We've been so bored! Did you think of the thirteenth chapter already!

Draco: Did you bring back any Pocky?

Me (muffled voice under the pile): Can't…breathe…

All 3: OH! (they let me up as Lucius walks into the room)

Lucius: Your trip was enjoyable, I assume.

Me (glumly): Yeah, but I also happened to be in Japan during the whole London fiasco. Not only that, but I was part of an organization called People to People Student Ambassadors, and we had fellow delegates visiting over there who were caught up in the attacks. Fortunately, they are safe and so am I, and the ones who died will never be forgotten. So remember this, everyone: If we are to freely enjoy the benefits of a passport, expand our horizons and minds, and see the world with our own eyes, we must not buckle under the strain of extremist morons! Life shall and will go on! Long live Britain!

All 4: Damn straight!

Me: (claps hands together and smiles) On that note, I can also present good news. I was able to buy the Sixth Book (in English!) in Tokyo a day before the US got it! (to US: Nyah-nyah!) It was good, and shocking, but until everyone's finished I won't say another word about it. Let's just say the end leaves much to be determined. Also, it's given me great insight on my own fic, but I've never meant for it to be compatible, so what sounds irregular by the book is no fault through my own. (suddenly cries loudly) WHY, JK, WHY!

Harry: What!

Me: Sorry. Sixth-Book-related hysteria. Anyway, to answer Ron's question, I've considered everyone's opinions, and after a great trip like that, I'm totally prepared to write the 13th chapter…an unlucky number, and so it'll be for Ron and Draco. If everyone remembers where we left off, then let's get to business! (leads everyone into the theater, then runs out, returning with a vast assortment of Japanese snacks. Takes out remote and dusts it off) And just for warning, Lucius gets kinda cruel.

Ron: How much 'kinda'?

Me: Oh, you'll see. Rolling Chapter 13! (clicks remote)

All 4: Welcome back, Dr. Kim-chan!

(Begin Chap. 13)

…"_You're about to learn the hardest lesson of them all, Weasley."_

"_And that is?"_

"_Never cross my father's path."_

The winds outside magnified in fury, sending a refreshing air throughout the humid August night. A fire in the hearth wasn't needed, so the ash-streaked grate stood below the mantle silently. The wind passing over the chimney created a chorus of otherworldly noises, but it was currently of no concern to Ron, who was lying across his bed at the manor and contemplating Draco's words. He certainly would've felt better if Lucius had yelled, or at least did _something_ instead of leading them on like this. Once they returned home, Ron was sent to deliver the goods to Mr. Zabini's room, and Lucius immediately retreated to his study. He was still there and hadn't even come down to dinner, which worried Ron and Draco further. Ron knew there'd be risks if he slipped away to talk to Harry and Hermione, but at what price had he stole away for a few minutes?

Rolling over in pent-up anxiety, his pale right hand brushed up against the red ring around his left wrist. He glanced at it, face flushing with embarrassment. Hermione had almost figured out everything.

"_Pardon me for even entertaining the notion, but does Mr. Malfoy ask you to do that for his personal purposes?"_

She hadn't wanted to say any more than what was tolerable, but Ron was sure she put together the pieces of the puzzle. The same went for Harry. He liked it when people were concerned about him, but no one could know about what was going on…

Ron grumbled, his heart reaching the boiling point. What was Lucius doing in the study? Was he that upset…or even depressed? Was he offended at the possibility that Ron could've escaped and never have given him an answer to his question? He sat up, too restless to sit here and wait. It most likely wouldn't make a diplomatic dent, but he wanted to say sorry, say anything to get Mr. Malfoy to emerge from that small, lonely library.

Resolved beyond consideration, the stubborn Weasley climbed off the silk bed and entered the labyrinth of second-floor hallways. Blaise and Callisto were both asleep in their own rooms; even Draco realized it was a disagreeable time to try anything. That left him to sleep as well. The lurking shadows, shrieking wind, and Ron's own heartbeats conspired to add to his fears. He breathed apprehensively, as if there wasn't enough oxygen to spare, as he closed the door and started towards the north wing.

"_Lumos_," he whispered. His drawn wand flooded the corridor with a soft glow, but it didn't do much to make the atmosphere more calming. Taking more time to get there than usual—he tiptoed to avoid waking the exhausted alchemist—he reached the door of the study at last. The redhead pushed an ear against the door, trying to detect a sign that Lucius was still in there.

Quiet. He listened harder. Still no sound. Momentarily forgetting all qualms, Ron twisted the doorknob and barged in. The chair was askew. A few books were stacked out of place here or there, one or two still open on the desk. Upon closer inspection, a cabinet door had been unlocked. Whatever had rested in there before was now gone. Thin wispy smoke rose from out of the hearth; a fire had been recently extinguished. _When did he leave? I took a nap in the afternoon, but…_

"Were you looking for me?"

Ron yelped and pointed his wand in the random darkness, prepared to fire a defensive spell, just as the light revealed Lucius standing there with his own wand.

"_Expelliarmus_," Lucius instructed in a bored voice, making Ron's wand skid away into the shadows. "You can't afford to make decisions when you're afraid. You wanted to see me about what was in store for you since you failed to behave in Diagon Alley?"

"About that. I came here in the first place to apologize."

Lucius gave out an abominable, scornful chuckle, hastening his servant's heart. "Lovely to the point of naiveté. It adds to your charm. You thought I'd forget about your wrongdoings simply by saying 'sorry' and promising it'd never happen again?" he asked. He was doing so in a kind tone, but his eyes narrowed as he said it.

"Well, it's not like I wouldn't have meant it. I…I just can't stand you being angry with me. Whatever you have to do, just get it done. I can take it."

"As I've said to Potter once before, you're either very brave or very foolish. Before we face such ugly business, let us retreat to the parlor for coffee," he invited, flourishing a hand in the other direction and placing the other around his shoulder.

…Some things were obvious when it came to guessing that nothing was going to be as good as it seemed. Ron deduced this just recently. Once they had entered, Lucius ushered him into an overstuffed armchair as he bothered with the matters of servitude himself. Ron was so nervous the coffee cup rattled in his hands. Lucius sat across from him, studying his tremors.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," he told the cup, pointing his wand at it. The delicate china flew from Ron's shaking fingers and proceeded to hover inches from his face.

"I'm not exactly in the mood for throwing away any more broken dishware. Understand now that no serious harm will come to you if you're willing to tell me your thoughts."

" 'Serious harm'?" Ron asked, becoming cynical all his own. "That doesn't guarantee any harm altogether, now does it?"

Lucius smiled. "Observant. You know that I've grown quite fond of you, but I can't let you get away with this on that fact alone. If I let you be, there is no telling what you might do, regardless of how much you return my affections."

"Who said I returned them?"

"Then if you hate the conditions here, why didn't you run?"

"Because…because I would've broken the deal we made, and you'd have probably did away with my family…and I didn't really have a reason," Ron answered, guiding the floating cup to his lips to take a drink.

"You don't miss your family? Your friends?"

"Of course I miss them, but I didn't want to put them in danger by running away."

"A bit pointless, isn't it? Potter's already in more danger than you could ever imagine. Following the prophecy word by word, he draws ever closer to his fate. But he can't handle it alone, and that's where the girl comes in. Amidst her blasphemous lineage, I cannot ignore her talents. But how far will Granger go to provide help?"

"All the way, just as I will."

"And surely I cannot argue. That was evident when you dared to slip your little note into mine before I sent it off to the Order."

Ron gaped at him and sat on his hands, keeping them away from any potential chinaware-based victims.

"That makes two counts against you, both for being a naughty servant who can't learn his place. But you're sending mixed messages to me, Ron. All this betrayal and you stop short of running back to Potter. There's something that holds you here, something you want to make sure of before you're released."

A little taken aback that he used his first name, Ron still didn't take much time to retaliate. "Don't get full of yourself. I'll admit one thing; you have been nice to me—with the exception of that other thing I have to do."

"And even then, have I not been gentler?"

A long, drawn-out pause on Ron's behalf. Lucius nodded.

"I'll admit that is was my fault. You tear down my resistance every time. Meaningless the sex remains to be, but there have been times when you witnessed mercy, and one day you'll truly see what it means to be my lover. On top of which, you have a more comfortable lifestyle here. Do you really want to return to the Order, the Burrow, and Harry's side just to be the forgotten sidekick once again, just another sibling of the family? You forget you have someone here who does love you."

Ron took a leaf from Harry's book and arched a skeptical eyebrow. Undaunted, Lucius set down his cup and reached around the armchair to retrieve something…

"However much you deny it, I do love you, and you return the feeling. Sadly, there are times that call for discipline, when I must let you experience pain in order to see exactly how much I care for you. Tough love, they call it. No matter how strong the affections, you're still a servant under my instruction. It doesn't make this any easier, but the disloyalty you've shown me over the past few days shows that you require an awakening of your own. Are you doing these things because you really miss your friends and family, or are you doing it out of a personal spite? Do you hate yourself because you're not sure how you feel?"

"I'm pretty sure of myself, thank you," Ron spat out. "What I think of you is that you're a crazy wizard who's not quite right in his mind, who strives for nothing but power and almost got himself caught on many occasions."

"And that power is what you're afraid of. Whenever you're with me, little by little, you lose the will to fight back. You give me a look of fear, a look of respect…a look of love—"

His hand was returning from the shadowy depths behind him.

"I want to see that look in your eyes again, Weasley."

Ron barely registered what was going on until he heard a hissing sound slice through the air. A flash of a thin, black mass danced before his eyes seconds before it made his coffee cup explode and proceeded to slash the skin of his chest. Giving out an astounding scream, Ron fell forward and desperately clutched at the low table. His eyes blurred with tears, an unforgiving burn a few inches below his neck. Rubbing his eyes vigorously, he looked down to see a ragged cut across his coffee-stained shirt showing more than what was initially promised on. The skin visible through the cut was a shining red. Then he focused his attention on what he needed to be focusing his attention on.

Lucius had stood up by now, and in his left hand was…a snake? No…a blacksnake whip. Among his newly jumbled thoughts, Ron was at a loss to decide what was more terrifying: this punishment or the blank, sorrowful expression on his master's face. It was as if someone had performed the Imperius Curse on him, forcing him to do this out of his will—to do this to someone he loved more than anything.

Whoever this new man was or whatever his reasons were, he was dangerous. Ignoring his blistering chest, Ron staggered to get up and stumbled towards the door in record speed. Two hands found their way to the doorknob, but in his panic Ron couldn't twist it correctly. Another hiss, and another wound was inflicted on his back. He collapsed against the door and fell to his knees. Automatic, anguished moans clambered out of his mouth; he was too in pain and shock to scream properly.

"I don't recall saying you could leave. Believe me, this is for your benefit."

The wizard standing above him spoke in an apprehensive voice, as if it wasn't true. It was a time like this when one really needed their wand, but then Ron remembered that his was on the floor in the north wing…all the way upstairs, and he couldn't reach it to save his life…

And more hisses proceeded to screech through the air…

…Whether by fate or mere chance, Draco was meandering through the north wing in the meantime. His sleep had gone on undisturbed for a couple of hours until a ghastly dream woke him. He was groggy and unsure of what to do, so he let his mind direct him to where he'd feel comfortable, and that was Ron's room in the east wing.

He was three doors apart from his father's door when he heard footsteps and stopped cold, half-hidden by the shadows. Straining to see, he spotted Lucius walking towards his room, but with something in his hands—a big something. Muttering a spell, the door opened and he walked in without further restriction. Curious, Draco stepped closer to the threshold and peered inside, only to retreat immediately after he heard a ragged, pitiful sobbing fill his ears. It was unlike anything he had ever heard before.

"I know it hurts, but the potion's necessary. The burning will subside soon. Believe what you want, but I went easy on you. The cuts could've been a lot worse."

_Cuts?_, Draco thought incredulously, and he peered in again. Someone was in the bed, with Lucius sitting by the edge on a chair. Pulling out his wand, Lucius performed a Freezing Charm on his victim, whose crying gradually began to fade. Suddenly, the young blonde saw what lay on the floor by his father's feet…a black coil with a handle…

_Oh god, not the whip! Not even Weasley deserved that! I thought I'd never see that damned thing again…_

"Draco."

All thoughts stopped. Draco's body became stiff and motionless in an unconscious, futile attempt to hide.

"I know you're there. No use sneaking around. Come here."

With a resigned sigh, he entered the room. A few candles were lit around the perimeter of the bed, casting an odd glow on his father's face…or was it his own expression? There was definitely something setting apart this moment from Lucius's usual stark glare.

Then Draco dared to stare at Ron, and his hands flew up to his mouth to cover a terrified gasp. The shirt he had been wearing was torn to shreds, leaving him practically shirtless, so his wounds were almost in full view. Two diagonal cuts had burned scarlet paths across his upper chest and stomach. Leaning over to see the back (since Ron was lying on his side), he was also alarmed to see four others wounds imprinted there, one of them a perfect vertical line.

"This is the retribution Weasley received tonight, not only for the incident in Diagon Alley, but for an earlier act of deception. Am I not also correct in saying that you were a part of this plan? Not only that, but a few nights ago you went against me and saw Zabini in your bedroom, which of course wasn't the first time?"

"Father…"

"You'll soon be bearing my responsibilities. No blatant disregard for me will stand. I don't know if you're just too young to understand, but believe me when I say the current circumstances are too risky for you to be falling in love or to be helping one of Potter's allies. Are you saying you do not wish to be a Death Eater?"

"No. It's just—Blaise's different. He's really nice and kind to me. I haven't felt so happy…and as for Weasley, I can't be looking after him all day."

"That's not the point. You're lucky you will not be suffering the same fate as him," interrupted Lucius, nodding his head towards Ron and getting up to leave. "I'll overlook today in Diagon Alley, and I was going to overlook your affair with Zabini, but now I see I've been too lenient in the matter. Therefore, I forbid you from continuing the relationship."

Forgetting his place, Draco burst out, "Father, you can't do this!"

"I'm your father, and what I say is my final word."

Now turning an unbefitting shade of pink, Draco lost it and suddenly had the bravery to yell back, "You never let me be happy! You're only jealous because I found someone who loves me while your marriage with Mother fell apart!"

Lucius stopped cold, his back facing his son. Draco bit his lower lip, realizing he toed the line. Ever since Narcissa walked out on them, it was almost an unwritten taboo to speak of her name in the house. By this time, Ron stirred from his brief slumber because of the unnecessarily loud disagreement. He stared at Lucius and saw a deadly expression on his face, the one he saw only once when he had taken Ron by the throat at the mentioning of his wife. Flinching, he already knew Draco was in for it.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Ron peeped out. "Now, don't be hasty—"

"Weasley, I'll ask for your opinion when I need it. For the moment, I'd like you to kindly get up and hand me the whip by your bed."

"Father!"

"But—"

"_Now._"

The situation was unavoidable. Trying not to look into Draco's eyes, Ron minded his healing wounds and slowly picked up the coil. The whip was cold, hard, and rough in his hands, speckled here and there with his own blood, and a Hungarian Horntail was inscribed into the metal handle. Who would own such an instrument of cruelty? Ron cursed himself for having to follow orders and began to make his way towards his incensed master. Passing by Draco, an almost inaudible whisper was heard:

"I'm sorry."

It felt like many agonizing years before he finally reached Lucius, who grabbed the whip by that same metal handle and at last turned to his last bit of prey for the night. There were barely any words to describe the horror wrought upon his son's face. Ron wanted to run and hide somewhere so badly, but he was rooted to the spot, bewitched by the pure tension.

Before he had time to blink, Lucius raised his right hand and caused the whip to hiss through the air again. Ron stared helplessly as Draco ran here and there to avoid the whip's unpredictable strike. The black ribbon of death danced above his father's head, controlled by graceful flicks of the wrist and plotting the young blonde's every move, until…

"Ah!"

The first strike aimed low and managed to catch him on the back of one of his legs, forcing Draco to fall. Desperate, he crawled into a corner in a defensive position, but now he was trapped. As if it was aware of this new advantage, the whip rose upward and danced with more vigor, falling for the second time upon Draco's shoulder blade. Up, a hypnotic dance, and then another merciless strike, hitting a different spot each time. Feeling about ready to faint, Ron took hold of the bed's backboard, witnessing this entire horrific scene in reluctant silence. He couldn't let go of the backboard to plug in his ears for fear of losing his stance completely, but it was unbearable past this point to hear Draco's heart-rending shrieks of anguish. Five, six, seven…ten, eleven, twelve…

Thirteen strikes.

The whip lashed back to its place, and Lucius caught it and coiled it back up in his masterful grip. It was done. Without a word, he left the room. Testing his stability, Ron let go of the backboard, shook, and was able to stay standing. He didn't know why. Draco was barely recognizable. His silk pajamas were ripped beyond recognition, bled upon from the multiple cuts in his skin. A splash or two of scarlet was in his white-blond hair. Above all, he was in the fetal position, wailing uncontrollably.

_Can I ever love someone so heartless? Is this what he meant by having power? Having the power to hurt? Am I supposed to be impressed or something?_

Shaking his head in answer to all of his own questions, Ron took it upon himself to help Draco to the bed and tend to his wounds.

_Tough love, huh? It sure can't get any tougher than this—_

"Weasley."

His head snapped up from the phial of healing potion in his hand to Draco's unmarked face, twisted by both agony and remorse.

"Hm?"

"…I'm sorry, too…"

"About what? You have—"

"When I tricked you that time…it looks like I won't be able to see him anymore…"

(End Chap. 13)

Draco: (crying) I don't get any anymore! And I was whipped! I'm in so much emotional and psychological pain!

Harry: Is that really the end of Draco and Blaise?

Me: I'm afraid so. But do not despair, for the Good Doc has so much more up her sleeve!

Lucius: (brooding in the corner)

Me: What's wrong now?

Lucius: I don't like you anymore. You made me be mean to Ron. Now prepare for the Silent Treatment, starting...now.

Me: (gasp) Not the Silent Treatment! I need inspiration from you! You're my muse, dammit!

Lucius: (silent)

Me: Crap. Well, until Chapter 14, guys.


	14. When Dreams

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: I should've said that Chapter 13 was not for the faint of heart, put a warning label on it or something…guess it can't be helped. Well, after that terrible dilemma, Draco's and Ron's bond becomes stronger, yet Draco will actually go through and end his relationship with Blaise. Now I kinda wish this was HBP-compatible, because there's a plot device towards the end of Chapter 28 that'd be damn useful at this point…at least I believe it was Chapter 28. But I've worked my way through tougher spots.

Ron: Like Chapter 10.

Me: Exactly.

Lucius: (still silent)

Me: (whines) And Luci still won't talk to me! Let by-gones be by-gones, dammit! Something good will happen to you, I promise! In fact, these two chapters contain two of the big turn-arounds in the plot which will ultimately lead to…THIS! (holds up a yellowish envelope)

Harry: What's that?

Me: I figured this out way before I even started this fic. It's my secret plans for the Ultra Happy Mid-Point Plot! All I'll say is that it involves Lucius, Ron, hot cocoa and so much fanservice the readers will melt into happy little puddles.

All 4: (tries to figure out how all that adds up…somehow)

Me: This is a major chapter because it explains the title of this entire fic, which, as I said in the original version of this fic before it was taken away, is a quote from the Shakespearean play "Macbeth". Most of this chapter is a dream sequence and…it gets a little dirty.

All 4: (eyebrows raise in curiosity)

Me: I've said too much. Just see for yourself. Rolling Chapter 14! (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 14)

…_He was in a darkened room, made a bit more visible by the moonlight provided by the quarter moon hanging in the night sky outside. The ghostly light filtering through the arched windows created a muted reflection upon the stone columns and tiled floors. Ron remembered this place; it was the room Harry had found back in first year…the room containing the Mirror of Erised. Only this time, he was alone. He turned to see it, just as it looked like those years ago. The same esoteric writing was inscribed across the top of the mirror: "_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi_". To this day he hadn't figured out what that meant._

_This was an odd dream to be having. Their adventures concerning the Mirror were long past; Dumbledore had hid it from Harry and everyone else. It was a given that too much time spent in front of the Mirror of Erised wasn't good for your health, physically or mentally._

_On that night, Harry had pulled him away from his warm bed in the dormitory to show him the Mirror. Harry claimed he saw his parents, but it had been a different story for Ron. Never able to live up to his brothers' expectations, Ron had envisaged himself exceeding them all. Then again, everyone saw something different—not everyone's desires were the same. For that brief moment, however, he was happier than he had ever been._

_So why was he dreaming about the Mirror now? Was it a message?_

_Unsure of himself, Ron finally involved himself in the dream and walked closer to the Mirror of Erised. The moonlight was casting sharp beams through the dusty glass surface. _I don't know what the point of this dream is,_ Ron thought._ I already know what I'm gonna see: me being better than all my brothers put together. But I'm past feeling jealous. I know I'm not going to be great, but hey, it's a fact of life—

_He was cut off when something began to take form inside the Mirror…but it wasn't of him. Harry, Hermione, his family, the Order. They were all smiling and waving, beckoning him to join them inside the glass. Already knowing he couldn't, Ron walked up and longingly touched solid surface. Nevertheless, they continued to wave and smile._

Now this makes sense. Yes, I want to go home, more than anything.

"_Are you sure?"_

_Ron jumped in fright and twisted around when a mysterious voice interrogated him._

"_Who are you?"_

"_Are you sure you want to return to us? Is that your deepest desire?"_

_Ron nodded slowly._

"_You say 'yes', and I cannot argue against it, but did you know a person can have more than one desire?"_

_From the shadows in the distance out stepped Hermione, clutching a book in her arms. Ron goggled at her—she was his booming voice of conscience? Ignoring his stare, she gave a confident smile and raised a pointing finger. Looking down to see what she was pointing at, he saw the unfastened button on his shirt._

"_It seems Mr. Malfoy has his own desires too. It reminds me of that play we read about in Muggle Studies."_

_Then she held up her book for Ron to see. Engraved in copper lettering on the cover was the title "Macbeth", with smaller letters underneath it proclaiming: "A Screenplay by William Shakespeare."_

"_In fifth year we studied a play about power struggles between the nobles of medieval Scotland. It was particularly interesting because it involved witches, and surprisingly, Shakespeare wasn't too far from the truth, although there were some inconsistencies. For instance, Macbeth and a couple of the other main characters were able to directly interact with the witches, but it would've been more accurate if they hadn't. Also, he was describing hags, not witches, but there have been instances of hags attempting to perform the Dark Arts in the past."_

"_Why are you giving me a history lesson in my dream?" Ron complained. "Even when I'm sleeping and miles away from you!"_

_Hermione frowned. "Well, this time I'm here to help. To get to the point, there's a quote from the play that you might want to understand. In Act One, Macbeth begins to undertake his plot to assassinate the king in order to fulfill a prophecy declared by the witches—or hags. As he prepares, he says, "Stars, hide your fires. Let not light see my black and deep desires." "_

"_And…what does that have to do with me?"_

_Hermione shut the book in a huff. "You're doing the same thing: hiding your desires for fear of what other people—and yourself—might say. Sure, you want us to pay the ransom so you can get away from Malfoy, but there's a part of you that wants to stay, that wants to see where this leads."_

"_You weren't there two nights ago! You didn't see how he hurt me, how he hurt Draco! I'll never love a madman like that!"_

"_On the contrary. Mr. Malfoy is only vicious when he believes it necessary. Didn't you see the look on his face that night? He didn't want to hurt you, but he didn't want you to abandon him either, and he felt that it was the only way to show you how desperate he was to keep you there. When you look past the whipping, was there any other occasion when he was mean to you? And let's face it: we always knew he was unkind to his son, and Draco did sort of mouth off. That was just a matter of discipline. Deep inside, you know Mr. Malfoy's a good person. He just has to hide it because of his high status and dignity."_

_Ron stayed quiet, seething. What kind of crazy dream was this? Hermione was sticking up for Lucius? As much sense as it made, he refused to accept these facts. Sensing his hesitation, she sighed in exasperation and pulled out her wand from her pocket. She walked up to him, put down the book, turned him around by the shoulders and pushed him to within a few feet away from the Mirror._

"_Look, I didn't want to have to do this, but if you don't resolve this now, it'll haunt you for the rest of your life. It's time to see your own black and deep desires, Ron, the desires you and Mr. Malfoy share. _Petrificus Totalus!"

_A dream it was, but the impact of Hermione's spell felt so realistic. Ron was rooted to the ground, his eyes unmoving, his extremities as stiff as a board. He couldn't talk, much less protest about this new development. All he was allowed to see was the Mirror of Erised gleaming ominously in the dim moonlight. Behind him, Hermione gave a 'tsk' of satisfaction and briskly walked back into the shadows, disappearing from Ron's dream realm entirely._

What "black and deep desires"? What's she talking about?

_Suddenly he quieted his mind. Another scene was taking shape. It was a carpeted room with a large, plush sofa both big and comfortable enough to use as a bed. An armchair was standing off in the corner. Two large, vaulted windows had curtains drawn over them, but the lighting made it evident that it was night-time in the scene. A fireplace bigger than the one in Lucius's bedroom faced the sofa, nestled between the two arched windows. A plethora of cream-colored candles were set everywhere, giving the room a homely touch. Ron recognized this room. It was the parlor, one of Lucius's favorite rooms and the only one you couldn't merely walk into; it was one of the only rooms downstairs with a door guarding it._

_Then he saw who was on the sofa and got an urge to shut his eyes. Nothing real obscene; the only thing that was worth seeing at the moment was Lucius and Ron sharing a kiss on the sofa. They looked deeply involved: Lucius was just about lying on top of Ron, softly rubbing his shoulders, and Ron doing same. After a few minutes, their lips parted, and the frozen Ron saw an unnatural, heady stare in his reflection's eyes. Not wanton, but a look of total bliss. Smirking, Lucius sat up and rearranged the pair so that now Ron was sitting in his lap and facing him. It looked a bit odd because Ron was supporting himself by his knees on either side of Lucius's legs, so he seemed half an inch taller than his own master._ What are we up to now, _the petrified Ron thought, panic tingling throughout his body._

_The kiss commenced, more passionate than before. Eyes closed, Lucius reached out and started unbuttoning Ron's shirt. One by one, the oversized blouse slipped off the redhead's shoulders until he wriggled his arms out and it dropped to the floor. Returning the favor, he unfastened Lucius' cloak and threw it to the side, then started work on the shirt too. Before long, they were both shirtless. If he had the ability to gulp in nervousness, Ron surely would've done it by now._

_He gasped—well, he would've if his lips weren't also petrified. Ron's reflection was slowly running his hands up Lucius's body, getting a feel for what was soon to come. Ron hadn't seen Mr. Malfoy smile like that. He never saw himself smile like that. They both looked so happy…a twinge of regret was felt…_

"_You're not done yet. What you're seeing is only the beginning."_

_Ron tried to view his surroundings, then muffled complaints after realizing for the fourth time that he was still Petrified. No…it was only her voice. She hadn't come back to the room—and even then, something was beginning to happen in the Mirror which made Ron hope with all his might she wasn't._

_Lucius's hands had stopped to rest nonchalantly on Ron's hips, but Ron's hands held them firmly. The smiles had faded, and Lucius stared into Ron's wide blue eyes._

"_Do you want me to stop?"_

"_It's not that. It's just…I'm not sure."_

"_As I've said before, there's a difference between what we were doing before and what we're doing now. Do you love me now? With all heart and soul?"_

_Both Rons nodded solemnly (actually, the frozen Ron just agreed on the inside)._

"_Do you remember what I said? If you put your heart and soul into the process, it'd be a more wonderful experience. This is no longer meaningless, a mere duty. I don't want to rule over you anymore—all I want is to protect you. But you must be willing to trust me. Let me protect you, Ron…"_

"…_I will," the Ron in the mirror said as the frozen Ron outside thought it. In the mirror, Ron took a slow breath as he released the older man's hands, trusting them to do the right thing. If unfastening his pants and pulling them down to his knees was the right thing to do, then he followed through within minutes. Ron broke the kiss again and tried to mimic his new lover, but it was a bit more difficult to do because he was sitting down. Lucius obliged and pulled them into a new position to make the task easier._

_All this time, the Ron outside watched, fascinated, as the two were free to merge with each other in the mutual goal of intimacy. A hot blush crept upon his cheeks—did he just…? Did Lucius just—? Was that possible? Abruptly, the spell upon him was lifted, and he was finally free to move about. But he didn't take advantage of this. The images of longing and lust in the Mirror of Erised petrified him now. Was what Hermione said true? Was this what he really wanted?_

_Was this his—and Lucius Malfoy's—black and deep desires?_

…"Weasley…Weasley! Damn it, Weasley, wake up!"

"Mmm…"

"Fine, have it your way."

"…AAAAHHH!"

Ron shot up from both his bed and his dream, drenched in cold water. Shivering, he turned to see Draco standing by him, a single drop of water hanging from the end of his wand, catching the morning light.

It was two days later since the lashing incident. The healing potion Lucius used on Ron—who used it on Draco—worked wonders. Physically, it seemed that nothing had happened to begin with. Unfortunately, there were the psychological consequences to consider, especially for Draco. These two days happened to be times when Blaise received more time for himself. Whatever the project going on in Mr. Zabini's workstation was, it was nearing completion. But Draco stuck fast to his vow; never again could they be together again.

Ron didn't understand this. It was obvious Blaise was crazy about Draco and vice versa, yet Draco was willing to let what happened stand in the way. Was it trauma? Sheer insanity? In any case, Blaise was left to ponder why his boyfriend (ex-boyfriend now) was all of a sudden acting cold towards him. On the other hand, Draco became more cantankerous than usual, once or twice picking on Ron for even the smallest accident. Apparently, today was one of those days.

A small smile on his pallid face, the younger Malfoy followed up his personal wake-up call with a drying spell.

"Deep sleeper…and a mumbler. Mirrors, desires, Macbeth?" He shrugged. "Anyway, Father received an owl last night but he felt it more appropriate to tell you in the morning. The Order's agreed to the ransom. They're paying up this Thursday. The meeting place is the Leaky Cauldron."

_So only three more days left_, Ron thought sadly.

His sadness must've shown on his face, because Draco added, "Of course, if you want to stay, we'd be happy to tell Potter. We can't let him waste his Galleons rescuing you."

"No, I want to go. It's…it's your dad I'm worried about."

Draco stared at him in astonishment. "How'd you know Father's been moping around in his bedroom ever since he got the letter?"

"I didn't," replied Ron, equally surprised. "I was just thinking; is there another reason Mr. Malfoy wants me around? You think he ever feels lonely?"

"Lonely? Ha. If you haven't already noticed, he's glad Mother's gone."

"Not miss her. He just wants someone to talk to again. You said he's been moping in his bedroom since the note came. I don't know why, but he'll probably miss me when I'm gone. I kinda understand. At the Burrow, there's lots of things going on, and when Harry comes by it's even better. But your father's in this big house by himself. It's boring here."

"He has me and Mr. Zabini."

"You two don't even talk—after the other night I can see why. And Mr. Zabini's a colleague and nothing more. I mean, he doesn't have any real friends or a…"

His sentence trailed off; he had almost used the term 'lover' and he didn't want to. That would've only garnered suspicion.

"Anyway, I don't care about his little tough act," Ron abruptly declared with a little too much energy, desperately trying to veer away from his own verbal pothole. "You just can't live the rest of your life alone. Even You-Know-Who needs people, granted the lot of them are brainless followers…I'm gonna go talk to him."

"I don't see what good that'll do. Even if you do cheer him up, we'll be returning to Hogwarts in about three weeks. I thought you said you wouldn't let yourself get involved with my father. He's a 'conniving Death Eater', isn't he?" asked Draco, purposely patronizing his nemesis.

"Death Eater or not, I don't like seeing people alone."

"What if you get roped into another one of his mind games?"

"That's a risk I'll have to take. I'm not so easy to fool."

"Sure fooled me," muttered Draco under his breath, getting whacked with a pillow a second later. Before he could protest, however, Ron had already left the room.

(End Chap. 14)

Me: Yes, short chapter, I know. As you've noticed, the chapter's title is a broken-off sentence. The rest of the sentence will be another chapter's title…the one in which I deploy my secret plan! Heheh…

Lucius: You'll be happy to know you're also off the Silent Treatment.

Me: I knew it. Not even the infamous Lucius Malfoy can resist getting some action. Let's see…there's not much to say about Chapter 15. It's a little boring if you mind heart-to-heart conversations, but I still wouldn't skip it if I were you. Where would you skip to? I won't have Sixteen up by then. Nyah-nyah!

Harry: Stop teasing the readers, or they'll stop reading your fic altogether.

Me: Right. Sorry…


	15. Malefecium

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

All 4: (in the corner, tuckered out)

Me: It's naptime now. Chapter 15 took some thinking, and my muses worked nonstop. On a completely unrelated note, we're out of Maxwell House. Anyway, here is Fifteen for your reading pleasure. I said it might get a little wordy, but not to worry. This story isn't all about sex—

Draco: (mumbles) But it'd make it a lot more interesting…

Me: (scowls) I think we have enough action. Chapters 5, 10, and 14 pleased my readers enough, and we got much more to come. Oh, and a couple of days ago I went to my account and saw that this fic received over 1200 hits thus far (Chapter 5 being very popular)! I was mind-boggled! Sure, hits don't really mean anything and I didn't get nearly as enough reviews, but that's another thing. This story also got more reviews than any other I've written, even more than "Sailor Potter R". You think we're ready to start archiving?

Harry: (mumbles) That's a little risky…are there even any other Lucius/Ron supporters out there besides you?

Me: There has to be. Otherwise I wouldn't have reviewers, and I've seen quite a few Lucius/Ron fics out there. Anyway, I got four notices. First, I've decided to use a few hints from HBP. Of course it doesn't make it fully compatible (especially since in this story a certain two people are still walking around). Next, I went back and did some more edits. Reading back, some stuff looked bad, and there was a preface to the original story, but FF didn't allow prefaces. Curse my mistakes; I hate confusing my precious readers.

Lucius: So why do you do it so often?

Me: (hits him over the head with an alarm clock)

Lucius: Ow.

Me: Also, after this we're going to swerve away from the Lucius/Ron for a while and go to the good ol' fashioned Harry/Draco!

Harry: (sits up) About time. The whole book series is about me!

Draco: Prima donna.

Harry: Oh, you're one to talk. By the way, Texas called. They want all their oil tankers back.

Draco: Why you—! (a fight ensues)

Me: And how exactly will I be able to turn these warring young wizards into a match made in heaven? Well, won't that be a feat. (breaks it up by knocking them over the head) Now let's find out what Mr. Zabini's been up to!

Harry and Ron: Yay! (steal remote) Rolling Chapter 15!

(Begin Chap. 15)

…Wednesday evening, 9:26 p.m. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

The place may've retained its gloomy physical structure, and the portrait of the crabby Mrs. Black continued to berate anyone near the entrance who disturbed her rest from time to time. Nevertheless, no amount of peeling paint or creeping shadow in the House of Black could have torn down the air of achievement from within. On Thursday, the Order was finally going to retrieve the Weasleys' youngest son from the clutches of Lucius Malfoy. That was later than initially proposed, but they were lucky the decision was even made at all.

A few days earlier the House of Black had been nearly bursting at the seams with compromise and furor as Harry battled it out with the three main authorities of the Order who didn't wish to see him use more of his parents' money. Mr. Weasley was the first to crumble; everyone foresaw that. The surprising thing was that they also predicted Lupin buckling before Moody, which didn't happen.

But everyone felt this, at least: the once-mutual relationship between Harry and Lupin was fast deteriorating, and no one could explain why. The first guess was that Lupin was becoming attached to the leadership of Mad-Eye Moody, but it didn't provide an additional theory as to why Harry was gaining respect for the other man. Tired, all they could do was boil it down to the stress of the current circumstances. The war was changing everyone.

On the subject of someone else, Mr. Weasley had been gone to a lot of meetings in the past couple of weeks. Way before this fiasco had started, he had been promoted to a newly created department. The Ministry was working itself into a blur despite the possible overthrow of Fudge on the horizon. Still, his recent absences from his other duties as a member of the Order couldn't be explained by his promotion. Only once had he surfaced back at the House of Black to give them a few spoilers. One person that came up in his reports a lot was a witch named Umira Mills. She was getting even more attention than Fudge himself, as she was Head of the Department of Magical and Muggle Crises, a department seldom heard of until now. She was new and young yet very experienced—and she had no heart for Fudge's mistakes either.

This was most likely why on Wednesday night, at 9:26 p.m., both she and Mr. Weasley Apparated into the dim-lit parlor. Her hair was nearly as red as any Weasley's, soft and flowing down to the small of her back. Her violet eyes were small and decisive, and she wore a black cloak fastened by an amethyst brooch. The few members of the Order who had been sitting there gaped in surprise, too puzzled to make a sound. After the initial shock wore off, Lupin finally made a daring move to welcome her.

"You must be Umira Mills, the one we've been hearing so much about. I apologize for being so blunt, but—"

"You want to know if I came here on Fudge's orders to shut down this operation. Heavens no. If I were Minister, however bold the move would be, I'd probably give you your own entire department. I also apologize if you've had to clean up after Cornelius's messes."

Moody immediately stood up. "We don't necessarily make bad-mouthing a hobby, but it feels good to hear someone else within the Ministry who sympathizes with our cause."

Clockwise, he began to sweep a gesturing hand across the room, introducing people one by one. "I am—"

"Wait, don't tell me. You are Alastor Moody, former Auror and now more of less the leader of the Order. This is Remus Lupin, former teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts and—if you don't mind me pointing out—a werewolf. That man in the corner is Elphias Doge. The woman with the pink hair is Nymphadora Tonks, who preferably likes to be called 'Tonks', and she's a Metamorpmagus. Very rare. The woman over there in the dark green robes is Emmeline Vance—haven't seen you in a while. And this—" she turned to her immediate left "—must be Arthur's wife, Molly. Of course this isn't everybody. Shacklebolt, Jones, Diggle, and Podmore are tending to other business."

Everyone stared at her aghast. Moody turned to Mr. Weasley and sputtered sadistically, "Is there anything else you left out about us, Arthur!"

"Oh, don't blame Mr. Weasley," laughed Mills. "In fact, he was very cautious with me, too—you have to be in these times. I am a Seer, although I don't practice as frequently anymore. I'm afraid my Inner Eye is wasting away. Politics have me tied, especially when a war's coming up."

Doge nodded understandably. "So what brings you to our headquarters, Miss Mills?"

"It's about the case concerning your son, and I'm very relieved at the decision Arthur and I have come up with. Fudge almost got poor Ron killed."

"How!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked.

"As you suspected, Mr. Moody, Fudge was planning reconnaissance on the Manor with a follow up raid on the 20th. Fortunately I talked him out of it…no easy task, I'll tell you. He wanted to avoid bargaining with a Death Eater at any cost."

"How noble of him," Tonks replied scathingly.

"Yes indeed," Mills replied with equal candor. "In order for me to fully convince him, though, I had to tell him a little bit of the truth. I only told him the part about where the money will be coming from. We'll be counting on Potter for that, I assume?"

A twitch appeared on Lupin's face.

"Yes," he said reluctantly. Umira gave a piteous glance and took it upon herself once again to unravel a mystery.

"I know you feel it was out of Potter's place to give up his money. After all, it was one of their last legacies his parents left for him. But can you honestly say you or his parents would feel better if he was spending that money on himself and not on others who're in need at a time like this? When you get right down to it, what he needs are his friends, not the Galleons needed to get them out of harm's way."

Lupin stayed quiet. She undoubtedly had a good point.

"In any case, although he's the provider, we feel it best if Potter doesn't come along. We arranged it so that I, Mr. Weasley, Kingsley, and Fudge himself are there for the exchange. The date is still set for tomorrow at three. We will have our wands out in the open if we're demanded to put them down," explained Umira.

"Who goes first?" Vance spoke up.

"Certainly the most risky part, and that'll be bargained upon when we get there. Even then, I don't believe he can easily fool a Seer…no boasting intended. As to the rest of the arrangements, we Owled Mr. Malfoy and he graciously agreed. The exchange will take place at the Leaky Cauldron in one of the second-floor rooms so he won't have an easy escape in the event he tries to fool us."

"You've done negotiations before?" inquired Tonks in amazement.

"To be honest, half of what I learned came from those Muggle cop shows. I find them so intriguing…and I had to do a few bargains in the Ministry. Not with Death Eaters, though."

"Five negotiations and she's never lost a deal or a hostage," Mr. Weasley added proudly. Umira blushed.

"And we hope this shall be her sixth success," Moody grumbled. "She seems more than experienced when it comes to hostages. Can she provide us information as well?"

"On this alchemist Potter told you about? The name's familiar, but I haven't heard too much about Callisto Zabini. These types of case files normally are in the Aurors' jurisdiction. But I wouldn't worry—your Order has yet to let important data slip through its fingers. Wait until about 11:15."

…As promised, almost two hours later, the form of a bald, black guy Apparated beside Tonks. Three more loud pops indicated the arrival of Hestia Jones, Dedalus Diggle, and Sturgis Podmore. Without so much as a hello, Shacklebolt beckoned everyone into the rundown dining room where it would be warmer, have more room, and hopefully be out of listening range of a certain someone upstairs. It was only then that formal greetings were possible.

"The illustrious Umira Mills, head of the Department of Magical and Muggle Crises. Thank you for contributing to the Order of the Phoenix."

"I wouldn't say 'illustrious', Mr. Shacklebolt. Just credit it to cleverness and organization. Now, I presume you found out who exactly Callisto Zabini is and what his current project is."

"She's a Seer," Tonks whispered audibly to the confounded man.

"Oh. Well, yes, I have, and on the basis of the other info Arthur's son gave us in his note, it's confirmed. Malfoy is usually trusted to finance the Death Eaters if ever they need something which requires money in particular. Recently, of course, Fudge gave the order for his assets in Gringotts to be frozen. Unfortunately for him, they did it at the worst possible time," he said in his trademark calm, deep voice. "If they hired Zabini, then of course they have to pay him. That, as Ron said, is where the 1,500 Galleons are going."

"We were able to look up the files for Zabini, and there was enough information to satisfy our needs, but things are starting to look dangerous," Podmore added. "Zabini was—and presumably still is—in service to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. However, he was one of the few exceptions: Zabini was never caught in any raid or other operation the Death Eaters have ever done. His only indictment was a few years ago, when a tip led the Ministry to raid his house and they discovered many illegal potion ingredients in his workplace. He got a heavy fine, but nothing more."

"In both the raid report and the log book confiscated from Mr. Zabini's workplace, it was commented on that the ingredients discovered in particular were being used as experimentation on making…," she hesitated.

"Making what? Speak up, Jones," Moody encouraged.

"Um…I'm not sure if anyone's heard of this serum. Its study is deep within the realms of alchemy and the Dark Arts, alchemy being a practice rarely done now…which is why Zabini is so valuable and why You-Know-Who's been keeping him out of trouble. There's a low chance he'd find anyone else in England as talented as Zabini. Even then, both alchemists and Dark wizards throughout history haven't dared to bother with it. Those who did ran into terribly bad luck, gone mad and such. Its notoriety ranks right up there with the Unforgivable Curses."

"Now, this serum tampers with the concept of ego and the human psyche. Any one of us sitting here at this table can be considered 'good', but the truth is that no matter how good a person may seem, they always have some sort of deep-seated fear or mistrust. A 'bad' side, if you will, and this potion unlocks that side of you," continued Shacklebolt. "In Mr. Zabini's log book, he says the name of this potion is called the Malefecium Elixir. When you drink it, he continues writing, it's supposed to feel as if you're drinking air."

"I never heard of a potion with such a light viscosity. What are its effects?"

"It's a very risky guess, but either way it isn't anything good. It doesn't say outright—he copied a piece of prose from an old text written by the last alchemist ever to attempt concocting the Malefecium Elixir. The prose itself is from an even older time. Diggle copied the poem and brought it back. Dedalus, show them what we found."

Diggle jumped a little, excitable as usual, then reached into his robes and pulled out a long scrap of rolled-up parchment. Carefully unrolling it, he laid it out onto the table for everyone to see. Shacklebolt leaned over and placed a pointing finger on the inked words, reciting it aloud.

" '_If one should drink this serum of air, their life shall be thrown into deepest despair. A smile will turn nasty with most horrible reason; you will find true horror within a year's season. Your kindness and courage shall be all but a lie. Your mind will be addled, and you'll never know why. It magnifies your anger, quickens your fear; you'll be the reason you lose everything dear. Happiness becomes madness, light becomes dark; the demons within you you'll find to hark. Enemies become friends, friends become foes, and then you will face life's terrible woes. The antidote is simple, if that is what you seek; find your true love's lips within a moon's week. But a warning to all, it may not be of ease. You may find yourself killing them, listening to their pleas. To all those who so do this remember only this last phrase: the next new moon will be the end of your days.'_ "

"Now that's scary," piped up Tonks.

"Dreadful," shuddered Jones.

"Well, the poem is too, but I was talking about something else. I know it's only coincidence, but doesn't 'Malefecium' sound an awful lot like 'Malfoy'?"

There was silence in the room for about two minutes—that was too much of a coincidence.

"They do share one thing: root languages. Malfoy is Old French, likewise taken from Latin, where Malefecium also comes from. The basic meaning is 'bane', 'bad', or even 'evil' in some contexts. Some of the poem's riddle we can make out, but there's other parts which puzzle even me. If anyone wants to make contributions now, say so," Podmore challenged.

"The ending is pretty straightforward," said Lupin, speaking up at last, "but you'd have to understand two other parts. In the beginning it says the poem will have a full effect 'within a year's season'. By reckoning each season is roughly three months, so it most likely takes that long. The second part says that a true love's kiss will cure you if and only if you find them 'within a moon's week'."

"And that isn't a regular, seven-day week," Doge added. "Could it be talking about the phases of the moon?"

"My guess exactly. So whatever moon phase it is by the end of those first three months, it'd take the time it takes for the cycle to go back to that same stage for the victim to find the cure. Personal experience made me especially aware that takes about 27 days."

"So after those 27 days are done—" Tonks started.

"There's no more hope, and the next new moon will signal the time of your death," Vance finished with a slight flinch. "Not only that, but the poem says you have a very slim chance of fulfilling the cure's requirement. Like Kingsley said, the potion basically makes you go mad and unleashes your 'bad' side. Who you hated become your allies, and you begin to chase after your friends, loved ones, and anyone else who gets in your way. If you come to hunt down your true love anyway…"

"Then technically, there's no antidote! Who in their right mind would invent a potion like this?" Tonks exclaimed.

"I don't know, but one thing's for sure. At the time of the raid, Callisto Zabini was in the process of doing what no other alchemist was able to do before him—perfecting the Malefecium Elixir," Jones answered. "And there's a good chance that's what You-Know-Who is paying him to finish the job. Considering how far he was able to go before the raid, and with this money he's going to get…"

"But there's one question left to answer."

Everyone turned to pay attention to Umira, who decided to chip in.

"Who is You-Know-Who's intended target?"

"Good question. I myself got two names in my head right now, but it doesn't make them the only possible targets. He could be after anybody. Still, considering those possibilities and all the people they love—it's a frightening thought, and I've seen a lot in my day," Moody mused in a half-whisper. "Think of the person you love most standing over you, not recognizing you anymore, preparing to cast an Unforgivable Curse."

The entire room became silent again, reluctantly bringing to mind nightmares worthy enough to satisfy a legion of Boggarts.

"So if he is working on perfecting the Elixir," Diggle said at last, "will we at least try to investigate after the exchange is done?"

"Point taken! We can't just stand around if they're using Harry's money for an evil potion like this which could reach anybody at any time."

"The good news would be that by then, we'll already have Ron, so there wouldn't be any more risk factors if we do decide to pull off a follow-up investigation. For that step, I'll leave it in Fudge's hands, since he's good in at least those matters—but only as a precaution," Mills advised.

Moody stood up. "Then I suggest we get some sleep. Tomorrow and these following days will be of the utmost importance. I'm just as curious and determined to stop this Malefecium Elixir before it falls into an innocent's hands as anyone. Arthur, Molly, you wouldn't mind taking Potter back to the Burrow for the remainder of the summer?"

"Of course not."

"Right then. Here's to hoping their son will return safe and sound…"

(End Chap. 15)

Harry: For this being a HP fanfic, I am barely seen in this story so far!

Me: Will you stop worrying? You're about to show up soon! Here, to ease your tension I finally got around to making you a Draco Malfoy plushie. Actually, it can be considered a 'Tickle-Me-Draco', but a bit more…mature.

Draco: How?

Me: This plushie I made so that it comes with an endless barrage of HP-related innuendo and sexy smirks only a Malfoy could pull off. Harry, press his left hand.

Harry: (presses)

Plushie: "I've heard about your amazing adventures in the Chamber of Secrets second year, Potter. But are you ready to enter mine?" (smirks)

Harry: (eyes grow wide, then hugs it with glee) Thank you, Kim-chan!

Plushie: "Not so tight, Potter—which makes me a bit of a hypocrite, considering the compliment I gave you last night." (smirk)

Ron: I believe this is the real reason this whole fic was rated M.

Me: Anyway, the next chapter is what most of you have probably been waiting for so long but I couldn't because it's always a precedent to set up the plot and such. Will Lucius be ready to let Ron go? Where's this Malefecium Elixir headed to once its finished?

Lucius: Will Dr. Kim-chan stop asking questions like it's the end of a daytime soap opera? I advise that you wait for Chapter Sixteen. (Me: Hey!)


	16. Until December

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: I think I've broken the record.

Harry: What record?

Me: For the longest-running L/R series, and we've only scratched the tip of the iceberg. On a somewhat-related note, I was glad to find out that wizards/witches do in fact come of age at 17; that means the other plot point I've been planning is also possible.

Lucius: What other plot point?

Me: I've said too much just mentioning it. Anyway, so no one gets lost, the really long Chapter Sixteen alternates between the present and the various flashbacks of Lucius. For Flashback No. 3, make sure you know who's talking because it's nothing but dialogue. (So a LOT of this is in italics.) It also reveals why Narcissa split.

Ron: Is she making a comeback at any time?

Me: Probably. Why? You worried she's coming back to steal your main squeeze?

Ron: (blushing) No…

Lucius: I wouldn't forgive the skankbag even if she did come back.

Me: (gasp) What if children are reading this?

Draco: You rated this story M! What perverted child would be reading this?

Me:…You have a point. Rolling Chapter 16! (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 16)

…After the storm a few nights ago, it happened to rain once more on Thursday—the day that Lucius Malfoy had been dreading for quite some time.

Ron's help around the house had been quite valuable amidst his betrayal, and by now it'd be pointless to reiterate the physical pleasure he had gained from all this. Try he did at concealing his true emotions, but save for the first time he knew Ron had enjoyed it, especially last night. He made no more attempts to back away, practically giving himself to the older man.

At 7:30 a.m. on that damp and chilly morning, the rain tapped on the vaulted bay windows in Mr. Malfoy's regal bedchambers, serving perfectly as a wake-up call. Lucius was never a deep sleeper; he had invariably trained himself to be ever vigilant. He awoke with a certain routine: open eyes, close them again and shake off the sensation of apathy for a good few minutes, take note of what time it was, then turn and look to the other side of the bed. (It was at this step that he usually ground himself back to reality; he'd be reminded of the terrible lie to which he had committed himself.) Then he would get up, get dressed, and walk downstairs hoping Dobby hadn't made a mess in the kitchen.

He hated that routine, more so when Draco left for Hogwarts. Then it was just him and Narcissa, and getting called away to business with the Dark Lord was better than trying to rekindle the spark in a marriage that never carried one to begin with.

But ever since he whisked off Ron at the raid, things had picked up. Either he didn't have to look at Narcissa at all, or he beheld a vision of what could've been confused as a ginger-haired angel. This morning he had the pleasure of seeing the latter, but at the same time it was depressing. This would be the last time he could do so. Even if he wanted to betray the deal he made with the Order of the Phoenix, it'd only be a matter of time before Hogwarts and the Ministry looked into it, and Azkaban never got any more enjoyable. He had to look on the bright side—this annoying debt to Callisto would finally be paid off. But what the alchemist was working on was sinister, even for his tastes…

(Flashback No. 1)

…_It had been the night before Lucius, Draco, and Ron set off to Diagon Alley. Going back to Knockturn hadn't been on the original agenda, but Callisto had called him to his bedroom to discuss something before bed._

_His first step into Callisto's room this time around offended his sense of smell. Only the left side of the room was even remotely fit for a person to slumber in; the right side had been transformed into a potions laboratory that even Severus would've lusted after. The smell was coming from a cast-iron cauldron filled partway with a thick, cloudy substance with a crimson hue—like human blood._

_Sitting before it was the infamous alchemist with an index finger following a passage in a journal. Grunting in approval, he cast it aside and reached for a corked bottle. As his hand closed around it, the eye not hidden by matted hair spotted his accomplice closing the door behind him and covering his nose._

"_The smell isn't that terrible, is it?" he asked mockingly._

"_Far be it from me to enforce the Muggle tale that all potions are odious in nature, but yes."_

_Callisto grinned and separated the cork from the bottle. He adjusted his scales and poured on a certain amount of the contents._

"_Unfortunately a good deal of this has been guesswork. No alchemist in living history has lived to tell the tales of their successes and failures. Can't say I feel too sorry. The problem laid with them. They were foolish to test the Malefecium on themselves…and went mad," he said as he shrugged and pushed the amount onto a small spade. Backing away slightly in reflex, he dropped it in. Lucius came closer and watched in fascination as the cloudiness dissolved, giving it the appearance of red-dyed water._

"_Isn't it a little pompous, naming a potion after me?"_

_A pause, and then laughter erupted, the curtain of hair around Zabini's face shaking every which way._

"_Not even you've heard of this potion. The Malefecium Elixir's existence goes way before your family's and has a much more obscure history. Is it coincidence the name is similar? Yes, but I certainly can't rule out the possibility. Malefecium comes from Latin, meaning 'bad'…a gross understatement of both its intent and reputation."_

"_Is this what Voldemort's been after?"_

"_Yes. I know I shouldn't speak ill of our master—"_

"_Then don't."_

"—_but he has no wisdom at all pertaining to the art of alchemy. His new plot would be lost without me. The price would've been higher due to the circumstances, but I at least have the decency to show a little respect to my employer, given his reputation."_

"_This plan of his…is it confidential?" Lucius ventured to ask._

_Callisto looked up, all mirth from his face gone. _

"_I should say so. I don't remember a time when the Dark Lord would so willingly divulge an important plan to anyone, even to his closest of followers. However, if you are capable of holding yourself with utmost secrecy—which I know you are—I am obliged to tell you, and only for three reasons. You've sheltered me, you will be responsible for giving me my payment, and…most important of all…your son will be given the task of placing the next phase of Voldemort's plan in motion. That phase will also make or break his victory in the war. Your son fails…"_

_He faltered, assured that Lucius understood the consequences of bringing failure upon the Dark Lord at the worst possible time. He did. It had been all up to Narcissa to free him from Azkaban; neither Voldemort nor his connections in Azkaban had bothered with his arrest._

"_Anyway, the Malefecium Elixir is a potion belonging solely to the Dark Arts, alchemy also heavily involved. This cannot be made by normal potion-making means. What you see before you is the result of six years of work. It is only now I'm in the final stages, and I am very lucky to be this far, what with the Ministry raid on my house a couple years back. After I was released, I tried to refine my half-finished work before I claimed it as a lost cause. Even then, my mind couldn't help but wander. I wanted to involve myself with the project again; Voldemort gave me a second chance."_

"_Six years?" the blonde man awed._

"_Even if one was trying to make a Polyjuice Potion and a Veritaserum at the same time, it wouldn't require nearly half as much work as one dose of Malefecium. And when one is finished, they must ask themselves if it was worth all that time. He hasn't told me the name of the unfortunate soul we're feeding this cursed liquid to, but I'll pity them if the prose is true."_

"_What prose?"_

_  
"In the second year of the project I came upon an old journal, written by the last wizard to attempt making it. He found an old poem telling what the Elixir does and was able to finish it. However, he drank the potion to get rid of his enemies; damn fool didn't read the entire thing. Slaughtered his family and most of the few companions he had and was never able to find the antidote...if you can call it a proper antidote. He was taken by madness. One of his close friends who managed to avoid his rage ended up having to kill him. No one was sad to see him go."_

_Lucius shook his head at the sheer misfortune the wizard in the story had endured. He scarcely showed sympathy, but then again the story was just that pitiful._

"_He thought it gave you the strength and the mercilessness to get rid of your enemies. It gives you that, but for another purpose: _'Happiness becomes sadness, light becomes dark; the demons within you you'll find to hark. Enemies becomes friends, friends become foes, and then you will face life's terrible woes.'_ You come to love your enemies—it's your loved ones who have to face your wrath."_

"_Now I see why he wants it. Why did you question the cure?"_

"_Because unlike most antidotes, the one for Malefecium isn't another potion…not even a bezoar can cure it. The verse after tells you…_'The antidote is simple, if that is what you seek; find your true love's lips within a moon's week.' _But I highly doubt he was able to do it."_

"_Why?"_

" 'But a warning of all, it might not be of ease. You may find yourself killing them, listening to their pleas.' _If Malefecium makes you kill your loved ones in the first place, there may not be a true love left to kiss. If at all, the given month only causes the victim more anguish."_

"_And what becomes of them then? Do they spend the rest of their days killing until someone disposes of them?"_

"_No. The friend who killed this man didn't know about the potion either, or else he would've waited. The last line says, _'To all those who so do this, remember only this last phrase: the next new moon will be the end of your days.' _If not someone, then the potion itself takes care of things. You see, then, why no witch or wizard who tested it on themselves has had the chance. But history may soon be proven wrong, which brings me to why I called you here…"_

(End of Flashback)

…There was only one clue as to who this potion was intended for: he or she would be at Hogwarts. If his son had to bear the burden of carrying out this mission, then Draco knew this person well. The days after, in a slight bout of panic, Lucius started to believe Voldemort's target was the boy lying next to him. It was open debate, and there was a good chance he was right, giving rise to a whole new dilemma. If it was required to bring his master back to power, and if Ron was in fact the target in question, no one could say Lucius wouldn't double-cross the Dark Lord himself.

Meanwhile, Ron began to stir, jarring Lucius from his thoughts. With a daze, the boy looked over at the clock in the corner. Ten to eight. He grumbled and went back to sleep. Lucius had told him the night before everyone would be taking breakfast a little late. Draco wouldn't be coming along this time either. It was bad enough he had to endure the strain of taking two extra people with him as he Apparated to Knockturn last time, and Draco wouldn't be needed. (As undignified as the system was, he'd be glad enough when he got his Floo Network back.)

Well, Ron didn't go back to sleep proper. He laid there beside Lucius—both without any clothes on—contemplating how far this had gone. He still wasn't yet aware of where his feelings were, but he was afraid he had already confirmed something without using words, and he had to admit the sad truth that for a minute, he let his guard down. Last night had been completely out of the ordinary. He stopped flinching or repulsing, acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Did it relate to the interesting revelations made two days ago?

Ron wasn't aware, but Lucius was staring at him again, thinking the same thing. Normally he'd have never been so candid. Well, that was another thing Ron was able to change around here. So many feelings Lucius hadn't even been aware of were suddenly brought out into the open and cleared. The most important of those feelings pertained to Narcissa's disappearance, as it has been said many times before. Lucius simply and foolishly assured himself it was happiness, but there was a fatal mistake in that. He turned out to be greatly disappointed—not in Narcissa leaving, particularly, but the overall feeling of abandonment. From there, the puzzle began to solve itself.

(Flashback No. 2)

…_Again, Lucius was talking to Callisto, but this time out in the garden courtyard. There was no real conscious decision in this except that a favored part of the garden entered its blooming prime around this season. It was a lot to be said that Lucius even had a favorite part, as the garden was Narcissa's former hideaway. In her younger years she had been an active gardener, but as time went by she became more superficial—if that was possible._

_Incidentally, the subject under discussion today was her. The reason Ron hadn't been able to talk to Lucius until this day was because they had been called to an unexpected gathering late at night. They were irritated to discover upon their arrival that Pettigrew had called the meeting. His only validation was the little group of fellow Death Eaters who passed this information along to him. Everyone was growing more wary of Voldemort's temper, even the people in his inner circle, a key reason why he hadn't been told about the gathering._

_They were called to discuss some rumors. At that point, Lucius understood why his attendance had been crucial. Needless to say, it didn't help at all to take his mind off the touchy subject…_

"_Pettigrew wasn't aware of your marital strife. He couldn't have, or else he wouldn't have acted like a raging lunatic," Callisto commented suddenly as he was studying a flower which reached the height of his shoulders. Lucius scowled._

"_It had little to do with his tactlessness, or the fact I'm emotionally involved with the separation. I'm angry at the fact he assumed I've been keeping up with Narcissa's affairs. She fled to the le Fays' estate. That's all I care to mention. The only other thing I know is Bella's made frequent trips there to talk to her."_

"_Bella?"_

"_Bellatrix Lestrange, my half-sister."_

"_Ah. I remember. Lestrange and Narcissa are very close. On that point, do you think it's true?"_

"_As worried as she can get over Draco, and as desperate as she can become, I won't entirely dismiss Pettigrew's accusations. But it doesn't explain how she found out about Voldemort's plans. Only you and I—and possibly the scraggly rat—know of it, and we've only recently found out I was entitled to know."_

"_That explains why he wanted to accuse you of telling her."_

"_He probably only said it to get my goat, and I haven't kept correspondence with her—"_

"_I'm convinced. It's possible Narcissa employed someone else to dig around and confirm the rumors _she's_ heard. Personally I don't see the harm. It's _her_ son, after all."_

"_That isn't the point. The others believe she's currently involving herself in a plan of her own. She thinks it's too dangerous for Draco to undertake a mission at this age without being instated—that I can imagine. Unfortunately I can also imagine her trying to talk Voldemort out of it, which is what she did apparently. Talking him out of an idea is trying to kill a Chinese Fireball with a Puffskein. And if worse comes to worst, I could also imagine her sneaking right under the Death Eaters' very noses."_

"_So am I hearing this correctly?" exclaimed Callisto, now a little put off. "You, her husband, would accuse her of betrayal?"_

"_I haven't said anything," Lucius reprimanded sharply. "The evidence isn't even solid. It's all based on womanish gossip, something I thought this lot was above."_

"_The way Pettigrew's carrying on, you may not have to say anything. If he decides to go ahead and tell Voldemort, the situation could get entirely out of hand."_

"_Not even Pettigrew is stupid enough to mention a word to him. Our master's been rather impatient as of late."_

"_Excuse me for saying so, but the same could also be said of you," Callisto said offhandedly._

_Lucius stopped cold. "And just what exactly are you trying to imply?"_

"_You just proved my point," the dark-haired wizard replied. "Pardon me for treading on rough soil, but I believe you're still holding a grudge because she left. Granted I sympathize—"_

"_I couldn't care less about her or what's to become of her after this nonsense is over and if the accusations are actually true," Lucius dismissed flatly._

"_Then allow me to ask another question. For being cooped up in front of a cauldron all day, I've been noticing your turbulent relation with your new servant," added Callisto with a sly grin. "Are you involved with Arthur Weasley's son?"_

_Lucius inhaled sharply and thought of a way to get around his question. "Even if I am, it wouldn't matter much. He's only here until I can get your payment."_

"_You know damn well I wasn't talking about business. I can see it in your eyes. Alchemists have eyes…better than the normal wizard. Just the day before you were talking to me briefly about his punishment; I saw you flinch when you recounted the incident," Callisto reminded. "Whenever he serves us in the dining room, there are moments of eye contact, and should I dare mention how sloppily he wears his shirt, yet you don't say a word? You don't even like to discuss giving him back, dropping hints about how you'd like to keep him a little longer. Well, Lucius? Do you love the boy or not?"_

" '_Love'?" he scoffed. "That's a strong word. I don't think I care to use it."_

"_Not yet, at least. But I guess you shouldn't be discussing it with me, now should you? You have to answer to _him_."_

_Callisto gave a knowing grin and tilted his head in the other direction. Hearing running footsteps getting louder, his companion looked in the other direction to see the redhead in question approach them…_

(End of Flashback)

He did answer that day, after Callisto immediately took up the hint and excused himself. No one said 'I love you', mind you, but Ron did come out and confess that despite the drudgery, he had enjoyed his time here. He also said, rather bluntly, that he understood how Lucius had felt when he whipped both him and Draco, and demanded if it had anything to do with his wife…

(Flashback No. 3)

…"_I had to teach you a lesson. The Order can't save you as long as you're in my possession. That was the reason. I will say I felt some regret. I promised I wouldn't leave any markings, and the healing potion I gave you could only work so much."_

"_They're just about gone. Long as no one sees me naked, I'll be fine. But why did you whip Draco?"_

"_Simple. Not only was he being disrespectful, but he has total ignorance of what's happening between Narcissa and me."_

"_So were you taking your anger out on him?"_

"…_Possibly. You must understand, Ron, that I do not get emotionally involved or question my feelings. Whatever needs to be done will be done, no matter what. Whatever I feel is clearly conveyed, so I never have to stop and think about my emotions, and if anyone has a problem, only then can they face up to me."_

"_Then I'm asking you. I think we both have a problem…and for starters, your last sentence didn't make sense. You keep saying you don't like me in that way, but you just called me by my first name. I think that means you like me."_

_Pause of realization and bitter regret. "You are aware you're about to overstep your boundaries."_

"_Look, all I want to know is what's up with you and Mrs. Malfoy. It may clear up all this mess. I think it's because you're alone right now. You needed a friend and a servant around the house, and then you get me. I'm pretty good with what you tell me to do, and you're impressed. But then you start to miss your wife because it feels like I'm taking her place."_

"_Ridiculous. I. Don't. Miss. Her. If that nonsense were true, that would mean Narcissa would've had to do something useful around here. She was nothing but trouble, and never stingy with spending money. The harlot didn't mind spending a few hundred Galleons on jewelry, but she was more concerned with kissing her money goodbye than she was letting her husband out of jail."_

"_So that's why? She didn't want to spend money getting you out?"_

"…_Do you remember what I told you one day? About how the boy from Hogwarts got away from me and I was stuck with Narcissa? I don't hate that part alone, and it wasn't just that one argument with her; it was what the argument made me realize. She didn't marry me for love, either. She married for money. I know I said I didn't care one way or the other, but it made her that much more unbearable. Finally, a week after I was released from Azkaban, she transformed into what I considered more hateful than a loveless woman."_

"_What?"_

"_A hypocrite. She complained how I spent too much time with Voldemort, about how much of a handful I was. She told me how I never showed gratefulness, how I never showed affection, how much I neglected our son. And then she said she had better uses for her money than letting out an ungrateful husband like me just to save her name."_

_A pause on both persons' part. Ron was mortified._

"_Then I told her…that she was a liar, that she was conceited, that if it wasn't for me she wouldn't have had a respectable name, how she never showed gratefulness NOR showed affection—not that I ever wanted her to touch me. I told her the many times she left Draco in my care to go to silly socials, told her about the many times she's flirted shamelessly. I also told her that it was my money, not hers, and if it wasn't for her sister we would've never gotten caught in the Department of Mysteries in the first place!"_

_A breath._

"_Then I had only one last thing to tell her—to get the hell out of my house. And she did, all too willingly. And when she was gone, I realized that I was alone again. Being alone was better than being with her, of course…but it's still not a life I can live. Was I desperate when I agreed to you being my servant? No. It was the plain fact I needed one. Was I desperate when I forced you to make love to me? Maybe. So now we come to your question: why did I whip Draco…and not only him, but you as well. I whipped Draco for the simple reasons I just said, but I whipped you because I let myself get involved. I wanted to prove to myself I wasn't going soft; I wanted to convince myself that you were collateral property and nothing else to me."_

"_Am I?"_

_Lucius turned around to face Ron slowly._

"_My original goal was to give you twelve lashes. As you can see, I couldn't bring myself to do more than half."_

"…_If I could stay a little while longer, until I went to Hogwarts, would you let me stay?"_

"_Foolish question." Surprisingly, Lucius revealed a smile. "Foolish for two reasons: you already know the answer, and I can't. I made a deal with your parents. They tell me Fudge managed to mix himself up in this affair. If I don't give you back, I could go back to Azkaban, then we couldn't be together at all. There; now I've confessed__. Now answer my question."_

"..._All I can say is there's this other person I like back at Hogwarts I'm trying to sort things out with, and I'll make you a promise right now. If things don't work out, I'll come back for Christmas break."_

"_And if it does?"_

_Reluctance. "…I'd have to turn you down."_

_An almost inaudible sigh. "I'm willing to risk it. Until December?"_

_Nod. "Until December."_

(End Flashback)

"Weasley."

"Hmm?"

"It's nine. You have to make breakfast now if we're to get to Diagon Alley by 2:45."

(End Chap. 16)

Me: (sigh) Nothing much else to say, really. Sorry this took so long to get out, peeps. Until Chapter 17!


	17. The Price of Sorrow

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

(Everyone is in a classroom. I'm at the front of the room with a yardstick. The front desks are occupied by Draco, Ron, Harry, and Lucius. Harry has his plushie on the desk.)

Draco: Why're we sitting in a classroom?

Me: Because we're having some confusion concerning the Malefecium Elixir. Let's break it down. (points to the blackboard) It's called "the serum of air" because when you drink it, it feels like you're taking in air, so it's totally undetectable. The drinker then suffers from rage and directs it at their friends and family. But this doesn't happen right away. Your temper deteriorates over a period of 3 months. You with me?

All 4: (nod)

Me: The next 27 days (the time it takes for the moon to go through the phases, hence "in a moon's week") is for the victim to find his or her true love and kiss them. The creator was both playing a trick and being cruel because he knew the victim would most likely kill them by then. By sheer luck, if you do, that's the end of it. However, if you don't, then whatever night the next new moon is, that's when you die. Now as a heads-up, there's a loophole in this that's crucial to the upcoming H/D subplot. Anyway, sorry for delaying the moment, but I am absolutely certain this time that Chapter 17 covers the exchange. It would've been in 16, but I couldn't leave everyone hanging, not knowing what Lucius and Ron's conversation was about. I believe you're also starting to notice that this is carrying shades of plot points from the Half-Blood Prince. Well, the real story's so damn compatible with what I'm doing I couldn't help myself. So…is Lucius ready to let go of Ron?

Lucius (mutters): Hell no.

Me: Rolling Chapter 17! (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 17)

…Business had been terrible this year. There had been days when Tom would be about ready to throw in the towel after seeing—for the umpteenth time—a scarce number of wizards enjoying a drink. Sometimes they weren't even enjoying it; they just sat there, worrying between sips.

But he couldn't leave the Leaky Cauldron, however shoddy it had become. It was the only business the grizzled old bartender had ever known…and no other experience could be traded in for all the ruckus which had taken place here recently. Granted a good part of it had been extremely dangerous, but what was wrong with a little excitement, a little adrenaline now and then? There used to be occasions when he wished for something to get shaken up around here. Maybe he had finally gotten his wish. Or maybe he was slowly going insane, like so many of his fellow wizardkind around him. Cooped up with these thoughts, Tom let out a sigh and continued cleaning goblets on one early Thursday afternoon.

He was waiting for another exciting installment of drama at the Leaky Cauldron. An owl had been sent to him not long ago from the Ministry of Magic (in fact Fudge himself), requesting his cooperation in something. All they needed was a room on the second floor for a few minutes with no disturbances. It was certainly all right with Tom. Barely anybody wanted to rent a room here nowadays. Yet what was particularly disconcerting was one line in the letter:

"_We are attempting negotiations with a certain individual whose identity could cause further scare if publicly released. Therefore, we ask you to keep calm should this other party arrive at the location first. If he is not hiding his face, you may recognize him as Lucius Malfoy_—"

Now that was strange. He read in the Daily Prophet a few months back that Malfoy had been sent to Azkaban Prison with a very heavy fine and proper restrictions for those who desired to set him free and give him another chance. Someone actually went through and saved his neck?

Suddenly there was a noise. Tom checked a nearby clock. 2:45 p.m. Well, it wasn't three o' clock yet. Thinking it was a customer at long last, he casually walked up to the front of the bar. When the door opened, however, he quickly dashed back to the far end of the counter, pretending not to notice a mysterious figure hidden by a dark green cloak. He knew without even having to guess that it was the 'other party'. Then Tom kept looking and was further surprised: following him was a redhaired young man a little overdressed for a visit to Diagon Alley. It was a while before Tom could put his finger on it. It was the close friend of the Boy Who Lived, one of the Weasley children. What was he doing with him, and with such fancy clothes?

Wait. The day of You-Know-Who's raid. He had overheard something about a hostage being taken by Malfoy. Yes, it all made sense now. They were about to take him back. Tom huffed as the pair made their way to the designated room. If there were to be more Aurors making a mess of the place, he'd be sure to make one hell of a formal complaint to the Ministry.

…2:58 p.m. The bell attached to the door jangled as someone else entered, this time followed by three others. Unlike the other group, they walked up to the bar first. Tom set down his glass and leaned onto the bar, goggling with interest at the people associated here: Arthur Weasley, Cornelius Fudge, a tall, balding black man with a small hoop earring, and a woman he'd never seen before.

"Hello, Tom. Sorry this isn't a more pleasant visit," Arthur apologized.

"We only have one question: has the owl delivered the letter?" the woman asked.

Code language which had been dictated by the letter. Tom leaned forward even more and whispered back, "He's perched and waiting right now. Flew in 'bout 2:45."

"Did he have the letter?"

"Yup."

Fudge looked at the other three. "Right then. Shacklebolt, you'll take your position by the door and assist if there's any trouble. We thank you for your help with all this, Tom, and remember to keep what you've seen and heard today under wraps."

Tom nodded as he went about his work again as the remaining three went to retrieve their hostage.

…Ron sat on the bed amidst uncomfortable silence, once in a while craning his head to see through the dirt-streaked window. There was an interesting mix on Lucius's face, and it both worried and saddened him. If not for this other issue he had to deal with once he returned to Hogwarts for his sixth year, he probably would've said 'yes'. Why he absolutely had to take care of this now? The same reason Lucius had taken him hostage in the first place. The wizarding world was getting too volatile, too unsure of itself. At least one could have some comfort in being sure of something, knowing that something good was waiting for them should one way turn ugly. Not only that, but one was also unsure of whether they'd either end up dead or alive tomorrow. Of course, Ron didn't want to just jump into Draco's father's arms—of all people—simply because of desperation.

Speaking of him, there could be a different side to the story. What if Lucius was just looking for someone to fill the newfound void in his life? What if this was all truly a ruse to gain his confidence? The answers to all those questions, he kept telling himself bravely, would be found out come December.

Meanwhile, Lucius stood guard over him, standing in such a way so that he could keep an eye on both the door and Ron—not that he believed for a second Ron would run away. If at all, he'd be more reluctant to leave with his own father. He had really gotten himself mixed up in something awful. A Death Eater enamored with the Chosen One's best friend? Was there a way to show Ron he was serious about this whole ordeal without actually running into deep misfortune with the Dark Lord? More importantly, in worst-case scenario, if his parents knew…if Potter knew…if the _Dark Lord himself_ knew…well…

Lucius had planned to be at the Leaky Cauldron early, and he also wanted Ron to wear this outfit. It was similar to what Draco had worn the night the Zabinis arrived, but it had less lace, no crevasse at the front, and was a flattering shade of midnight blue. He was giving him that outfit as a gift…

"_I like it a lot, but it's kinda weird to be giving me clothes as a goodbye present."_

"_I've held on to that outfit for a while, and I decided at the last minute to see how it looked on you. I'm pleased to see it looks much better than I thought. I want you to have it, to remind you how good you'd have it here. It was sort of a joy to take care of you. You appreciate what I have…I liked seeing you smile…"_

"_Oh, cheer up. Christmas isn't that far away. I could send you owls from time to time…"_

"_No. First it'd be too suspicious, and secondly I want you to decide about this with your own mind, without any distractions. If you really feel you should, then go to this other person first. I can't be there to dissuade you by any means. We both have to make sure this is real…"_

Ron concealed a sniffle, Lucius cleared his throat, and the doorknob turned slowly. The door seemed to creak in slow motion as Fudge, Arthur, and Umira filed in, one by one. Arthur stole a glance at his son and was immediately stricken with a wave of relief. He didn't seem to be hurt or emotionally scarred at all, and at the same time it was a bit of a shock to see him dressed so extravagantly.

His eyes narrowing in an instant, Lucius stepped forward, not taking off the hood on his cloak.

"I trust that you've met my demands. The price is 1,500 for the Weasleys' son."

"We've met them well enough, Malfoy," Fudge replied crisply. "Wand where I can see it."

"As long as you do the same."

Fudge glanced at Umira, who did likewise to Arthur, who nodded back sternly. Every adult in the room brought out their hands from hiding, their wand in one hand. With extreme grace and care, they laid them by their feet (actually Lucius felt too self-conscious about laying his cane on the dusty floor and gave it to Ron to hold). Still feeling bitter from his mistakes, Fudge kept sending vicious glares at the once-captive man.

"Ron, put my cane carefully on the bed and get up," Lucius whispered softly. Unconsciously he held out his hand, and Ron took it gently as he got up from the bed. Arthur spotted the close gesture and raised a fiery eyebrow. Ron stared back for a quick second and felt uneasy. He hoped he wasn't suspicious of anything.

"Who is the one holding the money?"

Arthur stepped forward with a small chest. Kneeling on the floor, he opened it to showcase the piles of gleaming coins. Without having to be told, Ron suspected this was Harry's doing. No one else was that loaded. Closing it again, Mr. Weasley let the chest sit amid the gap, rose up and stepped back. The sadistic grin Ron had long forgotten returned to Lucius, making him shudder slightly. But it only lasted for a while.

Now here came the hardest part.

"Hmm. Everything seems to be in order. As promised, Arthur, you may have your son back."

Suddenly, the reality of it all snapped back to Ron, temporarily making him lose all common sense. He broke into a cold sweat and squeezed his now-former master's hand. It was the same hand that had frequently ran through his orange-red curls while the other would hold up his chin to prepare him for a kiss. It was that hand which held the blacksnake whip, which had consequently proved Lucius's true feelings. In an instant, he forgot about returning to his family. He was just another brother, just another sidekick. There was no way he could let go—

Then, just as suddenly, Lucius's hand affectionately squeezed back and loosened, flinging Ron forward in the process. Before he could fully comprehend what had happened, he was back with his father again, back on the good side…back on the side without him.

"You've told me that you'd be leaving first. Very well then. I thank you for the money and for lending Weasley's son to me. Be assured this is the last time we'll have to cross paths."

Fudge gave the slightest of nods and gruffly announced, "Let us only hope you'll be using that money in a way that won't land you in Azkaban yet again. Arthur, Shacklebolt'll see you and your son home. We'll be Disapparating."

With that, he and Umira slowly picked up their wands and Disapparated on the spot, two loud pops echoing in their wake. A second later Kingsley opened the door and ushered Ron and Arthur out. As he took one last look back, Lucius was standing there, immobile, looking down at the chest of money with staunch misery. And as if this situation wasn't terrible enough, with equal sadness, Ron realized one last terrible thing.

He couldn't say goodbye.

…"He was moping around the house for two weeks, Arthur! Are you sure nothing was wrong with him when you brought him back home?"

_Yes. I just couldn't show it. But it was for the best._

"It could just be the shock of the whole experience. Going back to Hogwarts might set him straight again. He probably just needs more time."

_Yeah, three months._

"You think Ron found out a little more about what Zabini's been up to?"

_No. I was too busy worrying about Lucius._

"This weirds me out. This isn't the Ron I know. He's serious, depressed, he didn't come out of his room except to eat and use the bathroom…and just a few days ago he told me he was going to back out of his prefect duties for a while. He doesn't even want to boss around little kids anymore."

_Not to mention I'm in love._

"I'm at quite a crossroads myself. What could he possibly be depressed about? I think he'd be overjoyed to be free from the Malfoys, Draco especially."

_Draco, yes…_

"Harry, Hermione, you two think you could do us a favor and try talking to him? I think you three need each other now more than ever."

_What I need is to go back to the Malfoy Manor._

"He hasn't been very responsive so far, Mr. Weasley, but we'll try our best."

"All aboard! The Hogwarts Express is leaving shortly!"

Whistling steam streamed forth from a scarlet train, giving the familiar caution to those who were boarding it either to come back to Hogwarts or go there for the first time. There were a significantly smaller number of first-years on Platform 9 3/4 this year, which was certainly understandable. Meanwhile, Ron awoke briefly from his stupor, finished loading the rest of his things, and hurried to the nearest entrance. He had hoped to see Lucius here sending Malfoy back, but to no avail, which depressed him further.

A powerful nudge pressed on him from both sides of his body, shaking him out of his trance for a second time. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were helping his lifeless body board the train while trying to wave at the same time. To his parents' utter dismay, all Ron could do was look back emotionlessly and barely manage to ascend the short stairway by himself. Looking disgruntled, the two girls immediately followed him. Harry stayed and managed to yell out:

"Don't worry, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley! We'll try and cheer him up!"

Feeling a little better, the pair nodded and waved one last time as the train began to move.

…A couple of hours into the train ride, Draco was sitting in the Prefects' car, remaining blissfully unaware of what was soon to come, until the compartment door slid open. Standing there was a tall young man with dark hair and frightening gray eyes.

"You've tried to avoid me enough this summer, Draco. After three years, I believe I deserve an explanation."

The blonde he was confronting only gave him a second's glare. But he shrugged his shoulders and invited him in. He was right. His plan to avoid Blaise whenever possible until he had forgotten about him had long been doomed to failure. It was time to settle this once and for all.

(End Chap. 17)

Me: Yeah, the second part's a little confusing, but I believe you could figure out who was talking when. However, if you're confused, then feel free to e-mail me.

All 3 (except Lucius): (with a box of tissues) So frickin' sad! Must you be so morbid?

Me: I know it was painful to accept, guys, but we have to give the L/R a little break or else it'll get overrated. Besides, there's good reason. What will happen in the chapters to come explain exactly the motivation for Ron to go back to Lucius in December. And besides, we still got the case of the Malefecium Elixir to solve, the other couple to set up, what's gonna happen to Narcissa…a lot of loose ends we're holdin' here.

Lucius: (in the corner as he tries to hide himself wiping away a tear)

Me: (sees it) OMG. It made you cry? Now I know I did a bad thing! (grabs a lamp from out of nowhere and hits herself with it) Bad doctor! Bad doctor!

Plushie: "It's okay to cry, Harry. Why don't you let me make you feel all better?"

Harry: Thanks.

Plushie: "I will require chocolate syrup, whipped cream, chopped nuts, and vanilla ice cream."

Harry: You're going to make a sundae?

Plushie: "Who said anything about sundaes? I merely forgot to mention the handcuffs and whip." (smirk)

Me: Um…until Chapter 18? (faints from too many blows to the head)


	18. Upon the Scarlet Train

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Ron: (still crying)

Lucius: (secretly sad)

Harry: (hugging his plushie)

Draco: (a tad upset)

Me: A lot of sad sacks around here. I'm sorry already! I didn't know the last chapter would be that depressing (or that short)! Writing angst is one of my fortes, after all. Don't worry: December shall soon come, and in the meantime enjoy the D/H (and a bit of Blaise) tension! Anyway, most of this chapter takes place on the train, and Ron finally bears all (well, most of it). In fact, to shake things up around here, Harry, say my famous line.

Harry: (a little grouchy) Fine. (grabs remote) Rolling Chapter 18. (clicks)

(Begin Chap. 18)

…It had to be this year of all years that Ron would choose to be morbid and isolate himself from everyone else. Since there were fewer people coming to Hogwarts, there was a greater chance he found an empty compartment. Still, Harry and Hermione were traipsing up and down the aisle, peering into every compartment door window. Ginny would've come, but she decided in the end that finding Dean was a greater concern…but not before muttering something about "three's a crowd".

Hermione flipped a few strands of brown hair out of her eyes and asked Harry, "Where do you think he'd be?"

"With Ron, he wouldn't make it too much of a job to find a place to be alone. Could be anywhere as long as no one else is with him."

"Why do you think he's so down?"

After discovering that the compartment to the left of him was also Ron-free, Harry paused. He couldn't say, and if Hermione was asking him, of course _he_ didn't know. It didn't make sense. According to his usual custom, he would've long since gathered a group of his fellow peers around him as he regaled them with the stories of his capture and how the Malfoy Manor actually looked…_from the inside_, no less. He'd embellish the tale of how he suddenly became the only known Gryffindor permitted to be in Draco Malfoy's bedroom. Far be it from Harry to say Ron was conceited—sticking around the Boy Who Lived for a while would make anyone a little starved for attention.

And yet here he was with a prime opportunity for popularity and not grabbing it by the throat. Narrowly avoiding bumping into a third-year Ravenclaw, Harry grumbled and was about to open the door leading to the next car when Hermione stopped and abruptly turned him around.

"What?" he snapped, then realized he skipped the last compartment to his right—the one with Ron in it. Being closest, Hermione opened the door and let themselves in.

Ron was sitting at the far end, staring at the blurry, verdant landscape. Upon hearing his two friends come in, he actually bothered to pay attention to their presence.

"Hey, guys. What's up?"

"We could ask you the same thing," Harry said, sitting down next to him. Hermione sat across.

"You haven't told us a thing about how it was at the Malfoys' house. Did anything…well, happen?" she inquired.

"More importantly, we want to continue the conversation we had in Diagon. You were acting strangely that day and you're acting strange now."

"Maybe it's the Stockholm Syndrome. Remember what I said, Harry?"

"Not even Ron would be that desperate for friendship."

"Well…in the note he gave us, he said the Malfoys were treating him nicely…it could be something else. Servants at the Malfoy Manor—humans, not elves, obviously—are probably kept well. Maybe after living such a good life, it was the hit of reality that got him down."

"It's not that," Ron muttered out of the blue. Hermione's eyes got wide and looked at him incredulously.

"So what is it, then?"

The redhead sighed, not sure how to vocalize what he was saying without giving away too many of the 'details'.

"It's just…well, promise me you won't freak out or anything like that when I tell you."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other doubtfully.

"You didn't become friends with Malfoy, did you?"

"Pfft. Please. I'd die first…but you're close."

It took a long moment of brainstorming before Harry bellowed out, "_Mr._ Malfoy?"

Hermione jumped back, then was horrified to see Ron wasn't making any attempt to correct him. "You've gotten close to Mr. Malfoy? But he's—"

"One of Voldemort's men!" Harry finished in a roar. "A liar, a thief—not to mention he tried to kill us!"

Wondering whether to feel sympathetic or stick with her horrified expression, Hermione practically forced herself between Harry and Ron.

"How did this happen?"

"Well, not exactly in the way you think…just let me be honest. You all know working isn't a favorite thing of mine to do, but I guess I did better than I thought, with me getting experience helping Mum around the Burrow and all," he explained. "Believe it or not, he appreciated my help a lot, and...and it just felt nice to _be_ appreciated and be good at something for once, even if it was Mr. Malfoy giving the compliments."

Harry and Hermione looked thoroughly shocked…and more than a little indignant.

"When have you ever felt not appreciated with us?" Hermione demanded. Ron sent her a dirty look.

" 'It's Levi-_oh_-sa, not Levio-_sa_'," he taunted.

"Oh, don't tell me you're still bitter about that business, Ron!"

"It wasn't just what you told me that day in first year. You always tell me how bad my spelling and grammar is, how I should be more serious about my schoolwork and how it's such a pain to help me, why I shouldn't buy another thing from Zonko's ever again. You even complain about how I wear my tie!"

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to try and do your own work," she muttered.

"And when I'm not getting bossed around by you, I'm being ignored…and no wonder," Ron added, nodding his head towards Harry.

"Ignored? Who encouraged you to join the Quidditch team in the first place, or couldn't thank you enough for risking your neck when we went for the Sorcerer's Stone?"

"And then who gets babied by Mum while she complains about me and tells me to be more like my older brothers? In second year, when I tried to stick up for Hermione and tried to hex Malfoy—stupid me had to do it with a broken wand. A wand I broke, by the way, when I came up with the crazy idea to fly us to Hogwarts in my dad's Ford Anglia and almost got us killed and expelled!" Ron yelled. "The point is I had time to think about all the dumb stuff I did. I've never done anything to help…and you criticized me in fourth year about going on about wondering if you got yourself into the Triwizard Tournament. It's because you're always pulling off a stunt everyone can't help but notice! Is it any wonder I try to get attention when one friend's the smartest witch the school's ever known and the other's the one who's been chosen to defeat the most evil Dark wizard of our time?"

"…You play wizarding chess like a pro."

"That never saved our lives!"

"And again I have to go back to first year. If you hadn't known about the rules of wizarding chess, Voldemort would've long since beat us," retorted Harry. "You were also my first friend—if that never happened, look who I'd be stuck with as a best friend."

"Little consolation. Even then it'd have been a perfect match: the strongest, the smartest, and the richest. I've never been good at anything. Hermione gets Outstandings on just about all her schoolwork, Harry's idolized everywhere he goes…so even if I was a servant, it turned out cleaning and cooking were my greatest talents. I didn't save the world, but I felt good about myself. Mr. Malfoy needed the company anyway. The manor's been all outta shape since Mrs. Malfoy split."

Two pairs of eyes went wide at this unexpected news.

"Malfoy's mother left? Where'd she go?"

"Apparently the le Fay estate."

"Another rich wizarding family, descendants of Morgan le Fay," she lectured before Harry could find the time to ask. "But wait—why would she leave after letting her husband out of Azkaban? Wasn't she working with Kreacher?"

"Believe it or not, Mrs. Malfoy loved money more. By that time she got tired of being responsible for Lucius, _and_ the bail price put a real drain on their finances. Guess she decided to live her own life. But from what I hear, she's using Lestrange to keep her in the know about the Death Eaters. Anyway, Mr. Malfoy seemed pretty bent about it, and I couldn't blame him. His house is bloody huge and he had nobody else to share it with, let alone clean it up. I guess when I came along, I brightened things up."

Ron turned back to the window, feeling relieved of everything he got off his chest (and smiling a bit at the double meaning behind his last statement). He hoped that what he said would satiate their curiosity and finally stop them from digging deeper to uncover the real secret of the whole affair. The promise he made to Lucius wasn't something to be made public. It was something to hide deep inside, the source of comfort to console him through the first half of sixth year--or if the most hopeless of scenarios concerning his next plan happened this year, whichever came first.

"So don't worry about me betraying you guys or anything. We just enjoyed each other's company, that's all."

"We know you wouldn't do anything to betray us," Hermione declared quickly. "It's Mr. Malfoy we want to be careful of. Are you sure he wasn't nice just to win your trust?"

"I was thinking the same thing, but he didn't seem like the same guy who was chasing us around in the Department of Mysteries. Neither of us brought it up, and I didn't tell him anything, so it wasn't a problem—"

"Speaking of bringing things up, you never answered our last question."

"What question?"

Before Ron could bat another 'clueless' eyelash, Harry reached over and unbuttoned the top button on Ron's shirt. For completely different reasons, Hermione and Ron blushed a little.

"_That_ question."

…A couple of cars further down, Blaise Zabini was holding his own interrogation with Draco Malfoy. He had tried cornering Draco before in the manor, but the blonde scarcely escaped his grasp and left Ron's bedroom before Blaise could get there. One thing he had always liked about Draco was that he was always free-spoken. If a person like him couldn't face up to his own boyfriend, something was seriously wrong.

"Of course you know I'm past being suspicious. Now I'm put off. One minute we're getting intimate, and all of a sudden you're an ice prince. What's wrong? Is it over between us—?"

"Father found out. He knew this whole time," Draco admitted hastily, his voice insecure. There were two other reasons he was holding back, one of them a recent memory he didn't care to recollect. The scars on his right back and back leg were still faintly visible.

"I understand if we're breaking up because of that, but you said before that you didn't care if your father found out or not—"

"That was _before_ he actually went through and showed me how serious he was. The night he told me he found out was also when he punished me."

Blaise paused hesitantly, not sure if he wanted to know what he was going to say next. Being around Draco's family for so long, he was well aware of how unmerciful Lucius could be.

"You didn't tell me this part. Never thought he'd be able to intimidate you," said Blaise scathingly.

Both the comment and how it was said stung into his memory, provoking strong emotion, which then invariably forced Draco to shout, " 'Intimidate'? You don't know the half of it! Getting whipped thirteen times would intimidate anyone, wouldn't it! And anyway, there's another reason we aren't going out anymore!"

It was a mixed reaction from a usually cool person: shock for the whipping, curiosity about the other reason.

"Sorry. Okay, so we're broken up...so what's the other reason?"

Blaise took it way better than he thought. Now that that was out of the way, Draco tried desperately not to look into Blaise's eyes as he slowly added, "I met you in first year, of course, but I also met someone else. Obviously things didn't go well with the other one—in fact, it was the worst that could've happened, and I kept thinking about him while we were getting closer. You…"

He stopped to catch his breath and get rid of the lump in his throat.

"…You look so much like him, I couldn't help myself…"

"Who is he?"

Blaise's sudden inquiry surprised his ex-boyfriend, who flatly refused to tell.

"_No more secrets_," Blaise sternly chastised. "It was bad enough I didn't know why you up and left me."

"The problem is I don't know whether you'd be flattered or offended."

"Try me."

Dating or not, he was still the same, indifferent, close-to-mature wizard as always. At last, Draco decided to turn back into his regular, straightforward self and stared Blaise right in his dark gray eyes.

"Potter."

"Wha—I thought you hated him."

"Not just for the heck of it. He never gave me a chance…"

"Hold on. You told me this story before, but I thought you had just wanted to be friends. You never told me you actually liked him."

Blaise leaned back into the cushioned seat. "Well, that explains a lot. I didn't think you only hated him because he was there or 'cause he was more popular. You like attention, but you're not that superficial."

"No, I'm not," Draco replied dryly, a little angered at the implication. Then his voice softened at what he wanted to say next. "It sounds like I only went out with you because you were second choice. I hope you're not too put off. I--"

"I'm not angry. I'd go a little mad, too, if my crush turned me down the first time and never gave me another chance. All that said, there's just one more problem to take care of."

Draco looked up.

"Tell Potter how you feel."

Draco gave him a look of complete and utter incredulity, as if he had just been slapped. "I never thought I'd see the day when Zabini would lose his common sense. If I was whipped just for seeing you, you can't even _begin_ to imagine what I'd go through if I start snogging the Dark Lord's worst enemy! Besides, Potter's way past the point where he'll listen to reason. Now the hatred's simply natural, and there's no turning back. And on top of that, even if we did find a way—"

He stopped to retrieve something from inside his shirt. There was an elaborate necklace around his neck with a silver-plated serpent-shaped charm at the end…or what looked like a charm. It was actually a tiny bottle. Draco held it up to the light and stared at it very worriedly.

"—Voldemort's already decided. He's not going to live to see the end of sixth year."

(End Chap. 18)

Me: Ominous, ain't it?

Ron: I'm certainly intrigued.

Harry (glaring at his plushie): Malfoy has it in for me! What happened to us? What happened to what we had?

Plushie: "It's all lies, Harry-Warry. We're livin' in a dictator's world. (very smoothly) We have each other. Now kiss me, you bespectacled fool."

Harry: (begins to wonder if there's any way possible at all he could get away with kissing a plushie without looking like an idiot)

Me: Yay! My imagination almost gave out. Thought I'd have to end the fic there for a while. My muses never cease to amaze me. Until Chapter Nineteen, everybody!


	19. In Carriages and Dorms

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: Here we are at Chapter 19. Let us have it on the record that when it comes to writing about Hogwarts my writing deteriorates a little, so I apologize in advance. I only get real poetic whenever it's angst or romance.

Ron: And this may not be the best time to say so, but I'm currently concerned about the side effects of this fic.

Me: How so?

Ron: Well…in our Between-Chapter Break, Mr. Malfoy ran out and bought me a French maid's uniform. Feather duster, lacy silk panties and all.

Draco and Harry: LACY SILK PANTIES? Arrrghhh…_indecent mental image_!

Me: Disturbing as it is, but that'd be real awesome if someone did a fanart like that. Ron in a French maid's uniform…and Lucius somewhere nearby enjoying the view…heh heh. Anyway, one more Hogwarts-related chapter for the moment, then our twentieth chapter's gonna focus on what Narcissa's been up to _and_ what she's about to do. In the meantime, I'm gonna figure out the kinks in my H/D plan. (thinks to myself) There has to be some way Draco can slip that stuff to him…and a way more original than putting it in a drink…

Lucius: (trying to find the receipt for his French maid outfit purchase) Let Chapter 19 commence. (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 19)

…Night fell upon the verdant Scottish countryside. A waning quarter moon had risen up from the horizon, casting a ghostly light upon the Hogwarts Express, which was nearing its annual destination of Hogsmeade Express. A distance beyond, the moon also caused the surface of the lake to shimmer and moreover outlined a forlorn silhouette of the great castle of Hogwarts School. However, the white glow was starting to become blurred by the onset of clouds in the last twenty minutes of the trip, and strong gales accompanied them as the train whistled and ground to a halt to let the passengers off. By the look of the scene, it seemed like every wizard and witch there were inexperienced first years. Students looked around fearfully and grasped their cloaks closer around their bodies.

Among them, an extremely annoyed pair of friends stepped out into the eerie chill. They had been attempting to follow Ron's every move since his latest disappearance. But yet again he succeeded at dodging them by coming out of another car. As frustrated as he was, he had probably already found a carriage in order to get away from them.

"Maybe we should just wait and let him come to us," Hermione resolved. "We both know he's stubborn as a pixie. He probably just needs some time."

"Yeah, but that was a little too odd for Ron, don't you think?" Harry pressed. "I just wish we could find out why he's going so damn raving mad. He might know something very important about the Death Eaters, and we're just left sitting here to take guesses!"

"I think he told us everything in relation to what he could say about You-Know-Who's latest plan. Mr. Malfoy wouldn't trust valuable information to someone like Ron. I'd say his problem is more a personal matter, but the more answers we get, the more questions we have. Did you see how rude he was when we asked about the shirt again?"

With much displeasure, Harry nodded. For a scarce fifteen seconds after he had pulled off the brave act of unbuttoning Ron's blouse to prove his point, he and Hermione had taken turns at bantering him with questions while simultaneously trying not to be too pushy (although it was silently agreed that Harry toed the line). Suddenly Ron had flared up, put the top button back in its rightful place, shouted at them that 'though they were friends, whatever happened at the Malfoy Manor was his own damn business' and stormed out of the compartment. Equally furious, Harry started to follow him, but Hermione had stopped him. She prescribed 'a few minutes' for him to calm down, but that had been over three hours ago.

Dispirited, Harry and Hermione started towards the carriages as the familiar, booming voice of Hagrid called the first years for the boat ride across the lake. Walking directly past him, Harry swore he heard the giant mutter under his breath, "…gonna need less boats.".

Suddenly, he looked over at the two and said, "Hey, Harry, Hermione. Whassamatter? I jus' seen Ron hurrying over to the carriages. Looked like a Puffskein turned an' went nasty on 'im. You wouldn't know if it has anythin' to do wit his kidnappin', would you?"

The two stopped cold in their tracks.

"_You_ know?" Hermione asked, dismayed. No one outside the Order and Fudge, not even Hagrid, was supposed to have learned of the incident.

"Gotta see the firs' years to the boats, but to show you what I'm talkin' about—oh, hold on—"

He rummaged in the many pockets of his furry coat, once in a while taking out the usual dog biscuit and other oddities, until he finally pulled out two rumpled copies of the _Daily Prophet_ and handed them to Harry.

"Don't know how, but tha' whole thing got all over the papers," Hagrid muttered, knowing all too well that this shouldn't have been a published matter. "Talk to me tomorrow at the hut if ya still haven't patched things up wit' Ron."

With a wave of his enormous hand, Hagrid set off towards the lakeside with the first years in tow. Taking care to clutch the newspapers tightly in the wind, Harry and Hermione hurried to find a carriage. The haunting sight of the inky-colored Thestrals didn't faze Harry anymore; they were as natural as regular horses pulling their fares. Besides, few things were scarier than a Weasley in a very bad mood.

It took a while of scanning before someone shouted out, "In here!"

Spotting Ginny gesturing to them, Hermione grasped Harry's arm and pulled him quickly toward the carriage holding her and Dean Thomas. A few moments after she closed the door, the carriages set off towards the castle.

…"Dad didn't tell me you were delivering. Why you?"

"Because Mother's gone all weepy and went on her knees in front of Voldemort, Father lost the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries. He has it in his head that the Malfoys have lost their touch, and if the Dark Lord forsakes us entirely, we'll be no better off than Mudbloods. When I slip the Elixir to Potter and complete the final part of his plan, we can get ourselves out of this mess. On top of that I can get a certain problem off my back once and for all."

In another carriage somewhere behind Harry's and Hermione's, Draco and Blaise were holding another conversation. To be as realistic about this at possible, Crabbe and Goyle were also there, but Draco swore them to secrecy, and they were genuinely trying not to listen—a talent sharpened by three years of being the third and fourth wheels in this relationship. In addition, Blaise was doing most of the talking.

In a quieter, more rueful tone he added, "He will pay for making my family miserable…for making me miserable."

"Yeah, yeah, and our family'll be paid a pretty Galleon," said Blaise caustically, "but I have some problems with you going through with this."

Draco huffed and placed the necklace back inside his shirt. "What are you worrying about now? And what other choice did I have? You rather I'd have said 'no' to the Dark Lord?"

"I'm not saying that. It's all very well that this is just my father and Voldemort's fault as anyone else's if you succeed. But you know that if there's an inquiry if they figure out what's going on, they always go after the carrier first. It makes it especially worse since you'll be seventeen in November."

Draco shrugged it off, only succeeding in making Blaise angrier.

"I'm pretty sure you're way more worried than that. You're not even at all concerned about leaving your stupid vendetta against Potter unfinished?"

"What do you mean 'unfinished'? And this was never a vendetta. He hates me; I hate him. It's that simple."

"_Why_ do you hate him?" Blaise asked pointedly.

"I told you—because he preferred Weasley over me," Draco said in exasperation. "What moron out of his right mind would've chosen me over _him_? Not only that, but now Weasley's seducing my father! Does he _always_ have to ruin my life?"

"That proves my point," the dark-haired boy said coolly. "You're not mad at Potter; you're mad at Weasley for taking away Potter, and mad at him for going with it. Look, if you went out with me because I looked like him, the least you can do is make it less painful on me."

Draco paused, for once realizing the idiocy of his ways. No, he didn't want to make things harder on Blaise. He might've been an emotional cushion, but he still had feelings for him. However, it sharply contradicted with his usual routine of trying to vie for being right. After five years, he couldn't just go and beg for Potter's friendship, especially if Weasley was only going to make it hard. And there was Voldemort to consider. That was the first time he met the Dark Lord face to face, and that was the only time he had to. His transient words and sharp tone said everything. If Draco proved failure, he would suffer a torturing death at his hands—not only him, but possibly his entire family, and although he practiced a little Occlumency, Voldemort was still one of the (if not _the_) best Legilimens the wizarding world had seen. He didn't want to admit it, but he was in a serious crisis.

He frowned darkly and turned away from his ex-boyfriend, allowing an awkward silence to fall into the carriage. Suddenly, Crabbe spoke.

"You're not gonna go through with it, Malfoy?"

Draco gave him a long, smoldering look just as Blaise perked up to hear his answer. But his mournful voice absolutely did not match his facial expression.

"Look, this was Voldemort's orders, so listen well, all of you. I don't have any other choice. Potter must die by Christmas, and he also gave me permission to take care of anyone who gets in my way. That includes you," he said coldly, shooting daggers at Blaise. A look of shock finally achieved in taking over his face, and he fell back and crossed his arms, returning the ice.

"Fine."

"All right. Then I have one more favor to ask. How can I slip the Malefecium to him?"

"No."

"Wha—?"

"I'm not helping with this. At all. If you want to put yourself out on a limb, that's on you. I may be biased since I'm an alchemist under protection, but believe me, you'll regret this."

Then Draco leaned back and crossed _his_ arms, extremely close to tears. "And if you want to undermine Voldemort's authority and see me killed, that's your business. It's either Potter or me. Which one do you want to see end up as another casuality?"

And Blaise was silent for the rest of the ride.

…The Great Hall was alight with the custom floating candles, filled with students both young and old. At the Head Table were the usual teachers…well, with one exception…

After the small group of first years were Sorted (an even match between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. There were only three new Slytherins and two new Hufflepuffs), Dumbledore stood up and rapped his wand against a glass, catching everyone's attention. Somewhere in the middle of the Gryffindor Table, Harry and Hermione noticed that half the teachers, including Snape, were glancing in Ron's direction (Ron sitting way at the back).

"Welcome, students, to a new year at Hogwarts. I expect that both personal experience over your summer holiday and the Sorting Hat's song has given you insight into these current times. As you know, dark forces have set the stage for open warfare in the wizarding community. As much as I would enjoy saying affairs at Hogwarts School will resume as normal, I cannot fully guarantee this. However, I can say that the entire staff, in conjunction with the Ministry of Magic, has worked hard to ensure the safety of our students this year."

He went on to describe these taken measures, which included a small Auror task force sent by the Ministry to keep an eye on things. Then he swept a welcoming hand to a certain chair at the table—the chair usually occupied by the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher of the year.

"Wait a minute!" Hermione nearly shouted.

"…However, the year also brings good news, as we've found a highly qualified Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who expressed particular interest in taking up the post for as long as she'd like. Being also talented in soothsaying, she will take teaching shifts in Divination class with Professor Trelawney. Please welcome Professor Mills."

A redhaired woman in a black cloak with the sparkling amethyst brooch stood up and bowed politely as the students clapped reluctantly, not sure of whether she would really stay for more than a year. It was apparent, though, that the male students were very grateful to have an attractive teacher for once.

"Thank you for the welcome, Professor Dumbledore. I know some of you are hungry, so I'll be brief. (At this point, the students looked at her in amazed disbelief.) Like Professor Umbridge before me, I too, come from the Ministry—Head of the Department of Magical and Muggle Crises. From what I heard, her teaching career pretty much ended up in disaster."

Her bright, mocking smile at the end of that sentence caused some students to burst out giggling—an adult was sympathizing with them! Even McGonagall tried to hide a complacent grin.

"I'm aware that the class's name is Defense Against the Dark Arts, but I'll be introducing you to more than that. It's not only the Dark Arts we should be worried about; it's your own fears and anxieties. Everything begins from there. It's okay if you've been scared since You-Know-Who came back, but if you're afraid, that's when they get you. Your true 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' is your own courage, and if I mess up anything else this year, let me at least accomplish that. I look forward to teaching all of you."

Short speech it was, but it brought about an impressive round of applause.

"Finally, a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher worth respecting…next to Lupin, of course," Hermione remarked. Harry nodded in true agreement, but he couldn't help but take short glances at their best friend—if he was their best friend anymore. He was sitting by Seamus Finnegan and Colin Creevey, two of the chattiest boys in Gryffindor, and Harry was sure Colin read the newspapers. But it looked like they weren't getting anything from him either. (To be slightly off-topic, Dean and Seamus had been rather distant since last year.)

…Later that night, the Gryffindor boys' dormitory was strangely quiet. Harry was putting on his pajamas, Seamus and Neville were in the bathroom, Dean was rustling in his trunk for something, and Ron was already in the bed, curtains fully drawn.

Neville then came out of the bathroom, followed closely by Seamus. The latter crossed the room slowly and stopped short at the foot of Harry's bed. The raven-haired boy was starting to pull off his glasses, but put them on again at the blurry sight of the sandy-haired one.

"Um…sorry, Harry."

" 'Bout what?"

"Last year. You were right, and this whole summer our family's been worrying. I mean, we live way out in a village in southeastern Ireland but there's Death Eaters around there too. So, a truce, mate?"

Harry thought about it, then smiled. "Yeah. In fact, I wanted to say sorry about attacking your mom like that. I was just frustrated after all the crap I went through. Nobody likes to be called a liar, especially if it's about something this serious."

Seamus sighed loudly and theatrically, collapsing on Harry's bed. "I understand. Then it's settled. Finally! I wanted that awkwardness to get out of the way, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to ask what the hell's going on with Ron. I guessed you noticed he was sitting next to me and Colin; he was being a damn dragon. Colin deserved what he got, though. He's bloody relentless. Is Ron all right?"

"You-Know-Who's return didn't break your habit of nosing around, I see," Dean pointed out cynically, shutting the top on his trunk. Seamus sat up and glared at him, then Dean's expression softened.

"I'm kidding around. Honestly, I'm more frightened about what's going on than you are," he said. "Both my parents are Muggles, and we live south of Leeds. There's been some attacks near us already."

"My family's acting way different," Neville piped up. "Ever since I went with Harry to the Ministry, my grandmother's been treating me like a hero. She's even saying that she wouldn't be worried if the Death Eaters came after us because I'd save us! I wanted recognition, but that's too much responsibility! And I'm still nowhere near as good in Defense Against the Dark Arts like Harry is."

"That's kinda being overconfident, isn't it?" Seamus commented. Neville nodded, sighing sadly.

"Is everyone's family following those Ministry procedures they got by owl?" Harry asked out of curiosity. This summer he had received a violet pamphlet giving bits of advice on how wizards and witches should be guarding themselves against the recent terror.

"Yeah. Asking a relative or close friend something personal only they'd know. Sounded like a good idea to us. As soon as we got it, Mum practically forced us to make up safety questions—and you know what? We should have safety questions between us too, just in case."

"Who'd wanna come after us?" Dean asked skeptically.

"I mean someone could disguise themselves as one of us and go after Harry," Seamus shot back, pointing at the bespectacled boy for full dramatic effect.

"Well, I'm for it," Neville said immediately.

"Me too," agreed Harry. "Who wants to go first?"

"I will," Dean volunteered. "The question you all should ask me is 'Where's my birthmark and what's its shape?'. The answer: on the right side of my lower back, and it looks like a melted snowflake."

Everyone consented on it, and Seamus went next. "The question to ask me will be what I'd like my hair color to be. The answer is blonde."

The dormitory erupted in laughter. "Not platinum blonde like Malfoy, I hope!" Harry crowed.

Seamus shuddered. "Hell no. I'd rather it be a nice strawberry blonde. It'd go well with my eyes. Remember that."

"Okay," Neville said reluctantly. "Grandmother helped me with this question. Everyone knows my greatest wish is to be a respected botanist, but I'd especially like to study the magical botany of _which_ country?"

"Good one," Seamus complemented. "What's the answer?"

"China," Neville said. "A lot of the books I read says there's still a whole lot about Chinese Herbology the wizarding world doesn't know yet. Your turn, Harry."

"Hm. There's a lot of personal things about me that hasn't already been made public," Harry noted with biting sarcasm.

"Then how about this? Your question could be how you met your best friends—you know, Ron and Hermione. No one can force that out of you," suggested Seamus.

"That sounds good. Let's see…I met Ron on the train in our first year at Hogwarts. There weren't any seats left, so he came into my compartment. That's also when we first met Hermione…she was helping you look for Trevor, wasn't she, Neville? But we didn't become friends until after we rescued her from the troll on Halloween."

"A lot of detail. That should be enough to catch a fake Harry. Hopefully I'll remember what you said," Dean said complacently, lying back on his own bed. Suddenly, a weird quiet fell over them. Everyone was looking at Ron's bed as if expecting for him to offer his safety question, although everyone knew he was in no mood to do so. He hadn't yet made a peep, nor made any move to participate in their activities. Always being the daring one, Seamus got off of Harry's bed and tiptoed to the curtain. He made a slight crack in the fabric and peeked in.

"Light's too low. I can't tell if he's asleep or just being a bastard again."

"Seamus!"

"Well, he is! He took the carriage with me and Dennis from the train and didn't talk then, either. I know he was kidnapped and all, but he doesn't have to take it out on us!" he huffed, taking his hand away from the curtain and walking over to the bed between Neville's and Dean's. Harry took off his glasses and began settling himself in.

"I hate to say it, but Seamus is right. With any luck, he'll feel better tomorrow. With our O.W.L results, we get a couple of breaks between classes."

"Bloody hell, I only get one," Dean mumbled, putting out the candle nearest him. Eventually Harry, Seamus, and Neville followed suit, going to sleep feeling a little more secure.

(End Chap. 19)

Me: Kind of a feel-good chapter, isn't it?

Draco: A bit too mushy for me. You sure nothing homoerotic goes on in Gryffindor House?

Harry: It's a common room, not "Underage Wizards Gone Wild".

Plushie (who somehow got ahold of a camcorder, and who's somehow holding it): "What a great idea! Now, Harry, I need you to pin Draco to the wall and wrap your thigh around his leg, but no groping until you two get your shirts off. Then we'll go for the money shot."

Me: I don't even wanna know what a 'money shot' is.

Lucius: It's a specially provocative scene filmed in a porn movie that real perverts would "pay money" to see, thus the 'money shot'.

Me: Didn't I say I didn't wanna know? And I especially don't wanna know how you knew! Until Chapter 20, everyone. (sigh) I need Advil…


	20. Wives of Death

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: (holding the silver remote) Once again I hold the Mighty Silver Remote, this time because of two reasons. First because we celebrate every tenth chapter, and it's the 20th chapter. Secondly, this is the official six-month anniversary of "Black and Deep Desires" ever since its premiere in March! I am very happy! Well, a little sad, too. Besides wanting to go to Japan, I also made it one of my life goals to visit New Orleans for the sheer fact that Anne Rice set up her vampire empire there. Now Katrina's made a mess of everything! Damn you, F5 hurricane! (shakes fist)

Lucius: How are you shaking a fist at a powerful low-pressure tropical system?

Harry: (gives her a rubber stress ball) It's okay. Squeeze this…we're getting closer to the 50th chapter…you're well on your way to setting up your own Lucius/Ron shipping empire…

Plushie: "There's so many sex jokes I can make right now it's ridiculous."

Me: (calmed down, but still squeezing) Oh, that's right. So sorry the 19th chapter was 'blah', but I had to write something to fill in the void. Besides, it's my little retreat from the horrors of the 6th book (not that I'm trying to outdo Rowling. (hides plans of world domination involving archiving this fic)) Little do you know, but almost everything that happened in there will become real important later on. I'm also making the Draco Plushie Deputy Muse.

Ron: THAT potty-mouth?

Plushie: "You're just jealous because you want some Potter booty too. You're already knockin' boots with Father, you nymphomaniac."

Me: At least, I'm considering it. Anyway, this chapter is about Narcissa, and she will in some way speed up the process of the H/D…invariably. This chapter is more or less in the same format as Sixteen. (And P.S. to you-know-who, yes, Harry's a flaming hypocrite, and the flame will only grow bigger.) Also, this chapter answers a question I think everyone's been dying to know since the beginning: why in hell did the Death Eaters storm Diagon Alley in broad daylight? There's only one way to find out! Rolling Chapter 20! (clicks silver remote)

(Begin Chap. 20)

…Meanwhile, the night turned foggy and dismal in the cliff-side valley where the le Fay Chateau was located. Nestled just south of the Scotland/Britain border and protected from Muggle visitation by powerful magic, this was where generations of Morgan le Fay's descendants had lived and prospered. The current family consisted of two children who both attended Beauxbatons, a father who was often kept busy between his job in the Ministry and his duties as a Death Eater, and a mother who was simply well-kept. Meredith le Fay and Narcissa Malfoy had been friends ever since their years together at Beauxbatons. Was the same also true of the relation between Meredith and Bellatrix? Bellatrix had attended Hogwarts, so they never really had a proper chance to meet. When they did, though, there was something about her that made Bellatrix keep a distance, only proving further that more than looks made the two sisters completely different.

Tonight the two childhood friends were sitting in Meredith's lavish parlor and staring intently at the roaring fireplace, as if they were waiting for something to spring forth from it. They were. For over a month, Bellatrix had been coming in by Floo Powder to inform the two (mainly Narcissa) of the latest news among Voldemort's followers. The first night she came, they had heard some peculiar things about Lucius and a man named Callisto Zabini, a man they thought had slipped into retirement forever.

(Flashback No. 1)

…_A storm had been howling around the chateau at 9:42 p.m., the minute Bellatrix stepped from the bright green flames into the parlor. She promptly dusted herself off and sat beside Narcissa on an upholstered sofa, with Meredith sitting across from them in a plush loveseat._

"_Dreadful night," Bellatrix had muttered quietly, "but I am almost sure Voldemort is initiating his next move. He called Zabini to the house in Little Hangleton to discuss something. I do not know the details, but if Zabini is involved, then whatever he's planning will be unprecedented."_

"_Zabini? One of the famed alchemists of wizarding Britain?" Meredith repeated in surprise as she sent a house elf to fetch a bottle of brandy and some glasses. "I thought—"_

"_I thought so, too. The Ministry raid two years ago devastated him. The project he was working on must have meant a lot to him; he announced retirement soon after."_

"_And out of nowhere he goes back into his old ways just because Voldemort asks him to?"_

"_He doesn't have to ask; he tells," Bellatrix stated matter-of-factly._

"_But what does Voldemort need from an alchemist?"_

"_I believe it has something to do with the same project the Ministry stopped back then. The last time he spoke to us, he himself admitted that for the next step of his plan to come to fruition, it would take quite a bit of persuasion on his part. However, now…"_

_Bellatrix trailed off, and her face looked as if she was struggling._

"_Something wrong, Bella?" Narcissa asked worriedly._

"_It's a personal grievance. The Dark Lord…he is not trusting this plan to anyone, not even myself. Oh yes, he continues to be our guide to victory in this war, he continues to give us instructions and demonstrate his power when necessary. And yet I fear this isn't the same Voldemort I've supported all these years. I fear he doesn't trust us anymore. Is it because of what happened down in the Department of Mysteries? It was not our fault we failed!"_

"_Please calm down, Bellatrix," Meredith said impassively as the house elf came in with a tray, set it down on the low cherry wood table and scurried off again. With inhuman grace she poured three glasses and offered two of them to the sisters. But Bellatrix didn't take it right away._

"_Perhaps it is because he has the wrongful impression that your efforts were hampered by a group of children. I hesitate to go against Voldemort's judgment, but I disagree. The Order and Dumbledore soon came to their assistance, did they not, followed minutes later by the Ministry?"_

_Bellatrix nodded miserably, a little grateful for Meredith's sympathy in spite of herself._

"_I heard tell from my husband—who heard from Peter Pettigrew—that it had been his intention all along."_

_At this, both Narcissa and Bellatrix shot her astonished looks. Meredith frowned as she became deep in thought, sipping from her glass._

"_The peculiarities of all this were unclear. Nevertheless I can't help but feel that there was more to the plan than he let on."_

"_Don't tell me he distrusted us from the start!"_

"_I know we should never speak ill of the Dark Lord or what he does, and I don't intend to start now. It's merely my opinion that the Dark Lord is beginning to move with more haste and more secrecy, and in the process he may be directing his eye at only a chosen few to carry out the finer details. I don't know how much in regard he holds the rest of the Death Eaters, but I do not believe he is truly angry with anyone. The first time he vanished, many disbanded and forsook him, and yet those same people are still in his service."_

"_I looked for him," Bellatrix muttered sullenly. "I am loyal beyond measure. I should've long since earned his trust."_

"_Certainly no argument. Octavius was also searching for him sixteen years ago. But you should also know better than anyone that Lord Voldemort works in mysterious ways."_

"_What about my husband?" Narcissa asked._

"_Still in service, and I'm surprised."_

_Narcissa raised her head. "Why should you be? Lucius is just as devoted as you!"_

"_And yet he failed to recover the prophecy. He was the interim leader who led us to the Hall of Prophecy. Oh, yes, Voldemort may forgive, but this was different. On top of that he was caught!"_

"_Are you blaming Lucius for Voldemort's loss of faith in the Death Eaters?" Narcissa demanded. "And it isn't as if you didn't spend time in Azkaban as well. Who's to say none of this is just all in your head? It's as Meredith said, Voldemort can't be too upset if he allowed him to return!"_

"_Indeed. A fine Death Eater, but Lucius Malfoy's a poor excuse of a wizard when it comes to marriage. I told you when you were nineteen he'd be a spot of trouble! And look now; you were the one who had to break him out of Azkaban!" Bellatrix scoffed. "Or have you forgotten why you've fled here?"_

"_Which reminds me, Cissy," Meredith interceded, "are you returning any time soon?"_

_  
"No," the blonde woman replied simply, more or less ignoring Bellatrix. "We're both unyielding, although I am concerned about my son. I know I complained about how much it cost to release him, but there was more to the dispute than the money. I'm not quite sure what happened myself."_

_Then Bellatrix remembered why she came here in the first place._

"_Speaking of your husband—and returning to the matter of Callisto—he's made another blunder. However, this time he was able to turn it into one of our greatest strengths. That much you both can be thankful for. I told you of the attack we made upon Diagon Alley?"_

"_Very risky, but clever on Voldemort's part. Wasn't it merely a distraction?"_

"_Yes. Everyone at the Ministry cleared out as planned. As for us, it was luck that Potter and the Weasleys so happened to choose that day to be in the Leaky Cauldron. We were prepared to extend the mission, but the Order and the Ministry swarmed in and we had to fall back. Even then, our men in the Ministry retrieved what they were there for: the confiscated research from Zabini's mansion."_

"_What did my husband do, pray tell?" asked Narcissa, long past irritated at Bellatrix for badmouthing Lucius. Separated they were, but she knew he was nowhere near incompetent._

"_The orders were to not take hostages. In the Leaky Cauldron, Lucius was cornered by both Potter and Remus Lupin, so he had no choice but to use Weasley as a shield and take him with us to ensure our leave."_

"_Weasley?"_

"_The youngest son." Bellatrix smiled and swirled around the dark-colored liquid in her glass. "Potter's friend. Yes he disobeyed Voldemort, but we couldn't have asked for a better advantage. In fact, I just came from the Riddle mansion where they were discussing what to do with him. He's been relocated to the Malfoy Manor."_

"_But why keep him?" inquired Meredith._

"_Right after Narcissa went into their account to get the 5,000 for Lucius's release, the Ministry put a restriction on it. Also keep in mind that Callisto never works for free," Bellatrix informed, her voice turning spiteful at the last sentence (she thought it disrespectful for Zabini to ask payment from Voldemort). "It's a classic maneuver. Lucius will hold Weasley until the Order meets our monetary demands. Going straight to the Order of the Phoenix was Lucius's idea, and for once I strongly agreed. Negotiating with the Ministry would've only ended in disaster, especially if we've just finished taking back something from them. Besides, we want to keep those busybodies in line before we topple them in order to get to the Ministry. Right now them and Dumbledore are the only obstacles in our way."_

"_We must be saving the easiest for last, then. Fudge was never much of a wizard," Narcissa sniffed. "There's strong protest against him. Since the incident in June people have clambered for him to be sacked. With all this fighting among themselves, the Ministry might as well hand over Britain to us now."_

"_I wouldn't be so self-assured. They could replace Fudge with someone even more spineless, but they could also replace him with someone who could very well turn the tables on us…no, I'm _not _arguing against the Dark Lord's power," Meredith snapped, already expecting a rebuttal from Narcissa's sister. "We have to be cautious, not overconfident. We never thought a one-year-old boy would reduce Voldemort to almost nothing about sixteen years ago, now did we?"_

_"In any case," Bellatrix piped up, changing the subject, "I advise you to stay put for the moment, Cissy. I don't know what Lucius plans to do with the boy yet. I'll keep you informed of it, and of Callisto, too. Octavius sends his regards, Meredith, and thanks for the wine."_

_"Always," Meredith replied. Taking out and undoing the string on a pouch, Bellatrix slipped the cloak's hood back on her dark hair and threw a fistful of powder into the fire. As the flames turned green again, she stepped in and disappeared as quickly as she came._

(End Flashback No. 1)

"There's nothing more to do now than to sit and wait, is there? I swear, the Death Eaters have become too irrational."

Narcissa turned to look at Meredith, who looked rather imposing in her burgundy dressing down despite her younger age and light voice. Meredith folded her arms and kept staring into the fire. "It's a simple task, really. Nothing life-threatening, but still important all the more."

The blonde shook her head, trying not to think of the announcement a grim-faced Bellatrix delivered just two nights before…

(Flashback No. 2)

_…"Before I say anything more, you won't like what you hear. In fact, I don't know if I should mention it at all."_

_"For goodness sakes, Bella, what is it?"_

_Bellatrix sat down in her usual place and looked Narcissa straight in the eye. "It's about Draco…and Lucius…and you. There's been a lot rumors flying about, all concerning the Malfoy family. Which would you prefer to hear first?"_

_"Draco," Narcissa answered immediately. "What's wrong with my son?"_

_"Nothing's wrong. In all truth it's rather good news, and I'm satisfied with myself for finally getting some answers. Remind me to thank your husband, Meredith, whenever I see him again. Are either of your familiar with something called the Malefecium Elixir?"_

_"No."_

_"Peculiar. Some of the Death Eaters are heavily involved in the Dark Arts—a few unhealthily so—and not one has heard of this potion. It must be a forbidden subject. I couldn't get everything out of Octavius, but so far I can assume that learning of it, much less trying to make it, is a dangerous task to undertake even for experienced wizards and witches, and only Zabini, out of all the alchemists of our time, have bothered with it. Now he can say he's also the first to finish it."_

_"Does anyone other than Zabini and Voldemort know what it does?"_

_"Lucius. He was putting up Zabini for room and board until the project was done, and of course they've been good friends. Speaking of which, we should return to Draco. This Octavius didn't know—I had to force it out of your husband. All the Dark Lord's plan needs to be complete is for the Elixir to be delivered. The target, whomever they may be, is expected to be in Hogwarts soon. Your son's been chosen personally to be the messenger."_

_Then it was as if Meredith and Bellatrix were watching a horrific car crash in slow motion. The youth which had been ever so slowly fading from Narcissa's face drained away in a mere two seconds. Her jaw literally dropped, an expression of pure fright overtaking her face._

_"Why Draco?" she shrieked, her head tumbling into her hands._

_"Why are you worrying?" Bellatrix scoffed. "It isn't as if he were initiated, and even if he were, you should be proud! Besides, he seemed excited when he accepted the mission. If Draco succeeds, Voldemort will finally have what he wants, and your son—your family—will be admired above all others!"_

_"I agree with Bella. It doesn't sound like such a dangerous task," murmured Meredith._

_"You both don't understand. It's not the mission itself that concerns me. None of you have children—or children who're becoming adults soon," he added when she remembered Meredith's family. "And Draco tends to spend more time with his father. I've seen how strict Lucius can be; he's been trying to goad Draco into becoming a Death Eater since he was eight! I already despise how Lucius risks life, limb, and Galleon to stay in Voldemort's service. I refuse to let my son be the same way!"_

_"Are you insane?" Bellatrix bellowed, but Meredith's melodious tone interrupted again._

_"Please don't tell us, Cissy, that you'd rather keep your family in disgrace or that you'd rather die than give your son to our master…a wizard who currently has the advantage and who can rid us of the Muggle-borns. He is returning the lineage of the wizarding world to what it once was, which is what we've longed for. No more contradictions. No more weaklings weakened by faulty Muggle blood. Your son holds the key…and you really want him to give up the honor?"_

_"I would guess so," Bellatrix answered for her. "We haven't gotten to the rumors about her and Lucius. I had word Cissy would try and stop him…by herself if she had to. They're practically accusing you of treachery! I wasn't going to stand for it, so I came here straightaway. Now I see it might as well be true."_

_"If you had a son who's coming of age and involved in a murder scheme which could very well land him in Azkaban for life I think you'd be upset too!" Narcissa snapped harshly, putting both the other women in their place. "Of course I believe in Voldemort. It's just that I know how disposable Death Eaters can be."_

_"Well, between the scandal of your treachery and the talk of your son, you may not even want to know about your husband. Zabini had a meeting with Voldemort a while after these rumors began, and as it so happens something fell out the pocket that explains the whole thing."_

_That was when she pulled out a wrinkled letter. "I gave it back to Zabini…the original, anyway. I used a spell to copy the letter onto another piece of parchment. Here—read it for yourself."_

(End Flashback No. 2)

She couldn't believe what she read that night, after Bellatrix departed. The letter was too unreal…

And if it was true, the Malfoys were indeed in more trouble than they imagined…

(End Chap. 20)

Draco: We're in some deep doo-doo.

Lucius: (nods solemnly)

Me: And for our part in the recovery effort, we dedicate this and the next chapter to the victims of Hurricane Katrina. (Plushie salutes)

Ron: Can't wait 'til the next chapter!


	21. Can You Keep a Secret?

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

(Me, Ron, Harry, Lucius, and Draco are holding a Karaoke Night in a bar.)

Me (bartending): I came up with this idea when we realized that there's a lot of songs out there that match the L/R and H/D theme of this fic. Right now Ron's performing "Never Be the Same Again" by Melanie C, post-Spice-Girls-break up. Speaking of songs, the title of this chapter was inspired by one: "Can You Keep A Secret?" by Japanese pop star Utada Hikaru. Anyway, sorry the chapter's up so late, but I was on vacation for Labor Day weekend.

Ron: (singing somewhat badly and windows are breaking everywhere)

Me: Um, bad idea. Well, at least Harry and Draco can sing. I emcee and pour drinks. And…where the hell's Lucius?

Plushie: (drinking brandy, vodka, and Zima at the same time) He's in the back making a call. I dunno…somethin' about a plan to get Ron to stop singing and renting a limo after the show to take him to some upscale hotel in London so they can do naughty things…but I was drunk at the time, so I can't remember. (hiccups)

Me: WAS drunk? (shakes head and inserts plugs in her ears) Anyway, welcome to Chapter 21. (yelling over the noise of Ron's voice and glass shattering) ROLLING! (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 21)

**Standoff Between Ministry and Death Eaters Uncovered**

_The raid almost two weeks ago upon Diagon Alley has long since sent shockwaves throughout the wizarding community, resulting in a further upgrade of security measures. Yet we have now just learned of a newer crisis. On Tuesday morning, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge had addressed this problem privately to the Head of the Department of Aurors, Rufus Scrimgeour. This short meeting was held in order to ensure a last-resort plan to solve the aforementioned problem, which we at the Daily Prophet were allowed to learn of last Thursday for the purpose of alerting the public of the Death Eaters' new strategy. We all know the Death Eaters have a capacity for kidnapping for their own fiendish means, but this has up until now been the case only for adult wizards and witches whom they particularly hold interest in. After the Diagon assault, accounts told to Fudge confirmed rumors of a younger hostage taken. The hostage's name is Ronald Weasley, 16 years old, a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the sixth son of Ministry employee Arthur Weasley, who—interestingly enough—has recently been promoted. No confirmation of whether there is a connection, but we do know that Ronald's friend Harry Potter himself was on the scene at the time of the kidnapping. Mr. Potter, who's been called by many since late June as "the Chosen One"…(cont. on pg. 3)_

Harry frowned and turned to Page Three as Hermione read the other, later dated newspaper, which bore the article "_New Developments in the Weasley Kidnapping_". There was no doubt; Fudge himself had leaked to the media, although he claimed, as it said in the first article, that it was to alert the public of the sudden switch in the Death Eaters' MO. But Harry suspected it was just to make him look better. Incidentally, about a page away from Hermione's column was an opinion article by none other than Rita Skeeter, asking the public how good (or bad) they thought the Minister was handling the situation.

They were sitting in the common room on their break before their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Umira—well, Professor Mills now. The students who had her class so far were giving ecstatic reviews, telling how they hadn't even used their books.

"So Professor Mills is a hands-on kind of teacher," Hermione commented, turning the page to read the rest of her article.

"That's the best kind of teacher you can have. We weren't learning anything from that cow Umbridge."

Harry set down the newspaper, realizing how much he was looking forward to Professor Mills' class himself. He was setting his life—and hopefully his future career as an Auror—on that class. If the teacher was as good as everyone said she was, she could be of much use, depending on if she was also able to stay past the custom accursed year.

A few feet away on another couch, Dean Thomas was enjoying his 'only break in the day' when he heard faint footsteps from the spiral staircase leading to the boys' dormitory. All three glanced up to see Ron descending. It seemed like he had gone to sleep before the rest of them, but he looked terrible…and yet something was different.

"Hey, Harry. Hi, Hermione, Dean."

He was talking to them? In a civil manner? This was certainly a turn.

"Good morning," Harry replied stiffly.

"Late morning, really," corrected Hermione in a half-joking sort of way. (She was trying to liven the mood.) "You missed breakfast and first class."

Ron groaned and took an empty chair. "Which one?"

"Charms, but it's nothing you couldn't catch up on by yourself, and Professor Flitwick understood, what with…"

She trailed off, not sure if she should return to choppy waters.

"Oh. That. S' all right. I'm feeling better now."

"You sure?" asked Harry, a bit suspicious at Ron's change in behavior. "Doesn't seem like something you can just get over, and you've been bloody irritable for two weeks."

"To be honest, I wasn't telling everything. All I said on the train was only half the problem. I know we're best mates, but it was something I had to deal with…by myself, and it was scary. Being kidnapped isn't fun, and for once I wanted to be alone and not having anybody ask me so many damn questions."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione quickly intervened. "Well, whatever it takes for you to recover, take all the time you need. Nothing says friends can't have their own secrets. But whenever you want to tell us anything, anything at all, we'll be here."

"Thanks. Um…what time is it now?"

"We have Defense Against the Dark Arts in eight minutes," answered Harry, shooting odd glares at Hermione. "We better hurry."

But what Harry did next wouldn't have exactly been called 'hurrying'. He clutched Hermione by the arm (hard) and hung back until both Ron and Dean left the common room. Then the both of them began power-walking down the third floor, Hermione and Harry exchanging dark glances.

"What was that for?" Hermione protested.

"He finally gains enough nerve to talk to us and you tell him to shut his gob again?"

"Even if he is talking to us, I think he handled his kidnapping a little too lightly. He's still sensitive about it and just wants to forget about the whole thing. Besides, we don't need to wheedle anymore clues out of him. The Order knows what You-Know-Who's up to; they can take it from there. Or are you worried about the Malfoys?"

"It just bothers me that he couldn't confide in us," muttered Harry. "I tell him things all the time. What if something happened to him while he was there that made him so depressed? Maybe when he wrote that they were treating him nicely he didn't mean it at all—he was just trying to keep us from worrying about him? We both know Ron. He tries his best to be brave, but—"

"And that's why I said he didn't have to talk about it right away. Whatever went on between him and the Malfoys, these things take time. I'm worried too, Harry, but he needs some time alone. Let him have that. And if he never talks about it again, well, it's none of our business. Now let's go before we're late, and from what we've been hearing we don't want to be."

…The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on the third floor looked much more different from previous years. Not even when Lockhart taught had they seen the room so bright. All the curtains, which were now made of burgundy velour, were drawn to show the light rain falling. The fresh smell of outdoors completely chased away the old smell of dust and apprehension. Even the seating arrangements were out of place. A large circle was in the middle of the room with the teacher's desk pushed to the back and out of the way. The student desks were arranged smartly in a circular maze with space enough for Professor Mills to weave in and out of comfortably. Feeling a little dazed, the sixth year Gryffindors and Slytherins took their seats precariously, taking special care not to sit near any enemies. Woe for Ron, Harry, and Hermione. No matter how they figured it, by the time they got there the class was full enough so that no matter where they sat, they ended up being only two seats away from Draco Malfoy.

The minute everyone took his or her seats, like an Accio Charm, Professor Mills entered the classroom from the back, and then it was like someone pushed 'Mute' on a remote. Of course everyone saw her before this, but now they were taken aback by how she looked at such close range. Her bright red hair and young age suggested a laid-back personality, but her black cloak and dark violet eyes said entirely otherwise. They didn't know what to make of her, and for some reason they were drawn to the amethyst brooch that fastened the cloak. She marched slowly to the circle at the center and stopped cold. A minute passed before she even said anything.

Quietly, she turned towards Seamus with a bright smile, which brought on a reverse effect and scared him even more.

"You shouldn't hold grudges, Mr. Finnegan. Friends like Mr. Thomas are very hard to come by. Try and talk it out this evening; I'm sure you'll be much happier than you realize," she counseled, her smile showing no sign of disappearing. Dean and Seamus looked shocked, then stared at each other questioningly.

"How did she know we were fighting?" Seamus whispered loudly.

"She's teaching Divination with Trelawney, isn't she? She's a Seer too," Dean replied. "Apparently not a fake, either."

"Trelawney has her moments," Mills put in out of the blue. "She just didn't take the time to develop her Inner Eye fully, so her insight is erratic. She means no harm, even if she does. But this isn't Divination. We're here for Defense Against the Dark Arts, something I'm certain you need right now. Believe it or not, you don't have to be a trained Auror to defense yourself effectively. All you need is focus and to keep a cool head. That's why I'll be using my powers on occasion. It'll be random, and I won't dig too deep inside your thoughts. However, since this is sixth year, by the end of this year you'll know how to block Legilimens—because you'll have Occlumency on your side."

Everyone gasped.

"Isn't that really advanced magic, Professor Mills?" a nervous brunette girl asked.

"Take my word; it only _sounds_ like mystical, forbidden jargon and an equally hard skill to perfect. It takes time, but you can do it. In fact, we'll be going more in-depth to it right now. Put away your books."

Then everyone gaped at her as if she'd lost her mind. No teacher had ever told them that.

"You heard me," Mills said with a joyful strictness as she moved from out of the circle and back to her desk to retrieve something. Still flustered, the students did as she asked, only to be surprised again when they looked back up from their bags. She was coming through again with a large stone base in her hand, filled with a pearly liquid. She set it down carefully on a desk that was being shared by two Slytherins. Then Professor Mills turned her back to address the class again right as one of them slowly moved a curious finger towards the liquid surface.

"I wouldn't touch if I were you," she said, supposedly to the Gryffindors she was facing. "It's a little inconsiderate to put dirty fingers in someone else's thoughts."

"This is thoughts?" the other boy asked in disbelief.

"This, if you haven't heard before, is a Pensieve. This object holds any surplus thoughts one would like to keep stored. Some Seers find it useful when they meditate or are in the middle of soothsaying—makes it much easier to concentrate. I understand the Headmaster has one of these, doesn't he, Mr. Potter?"

Harry jumped in his seat and everyone stared at him.

"…Yeah, he does," he answered quietly.

Professor Mills nodded. "So you have some knowledge of the Pensieve. Then tell me, besides storing thoughts in here, what else can you do with it?"

"Er…when you touch the thoughts and reach deep enough, you can, um, actually go inside the thought and experience it. Like a dream."

Everyone awed and looked at Professor Mills to see if it was true.

"He's right. A person—could be more than one—can actually dive into a Pensieve and experience things as if it's in real life. However, you cannot interfere or change the thoughts. You can only watch. Speaking of dreams, most people don't know, but more than real-time, real-life thoughts and memories can go inside the Pensieve. As long as it's a product of your mind you can store it, even dreams and nightmares. Too bad everyone doesn't have these. They're usually expensive to have, and hard to find. This one was passed down from my great grandfather; I was the first in my family since him to show psychic gifts."

She paused suddenly, a contemplative frown taking over her. Seriousness finally settled, but not a teacher's seriousness—it was something real. She walked around the circle slowly, staring at all of the students, her voice just above the point of whispering.

"I know this is probably a lot to ask of you, but in order to use anything I'll ever teach you in Defense Against the Dark Arts, in order to face fears outside, you must _absolutely_ deal with your inner fears _first_. The fifth, sixth, and seventh years will have a test next month; fourth years and below will do it in November. That'll give you plenty of time to prepare. But it's not because it'll be hard…for the most part. It won't even be written. It is simply pass-or-fail, not for a mark. Everyone will give the Pensieve a nightmare reflecting upon your worst fear. Take note that I didn't say what you were afraid of; you already did Boggarts with Lupin in third year. I said your worst fear in this world. A fear of a change in your life that could draw you into deepest despair—or perhaps it already is."

When she said this, she was looking straight at Draco, who looked severely anxious at that point. Harry caught this and raised an eyebrow, but then she gave the same look to him, confusing him further. If that wasn't enough, she started concentrating on Ron. What…?

"You will deposit that fear in the Pensieve—I'll show you the proper technique over the next couple of days—and together you and I will attempt to conquer it. If you do, a spell I will put on the Pensieve will drop us back out. If you don't…"

She stopped in mid-sentence, giving everyone the urge to run from the room.

"Oh, don't get spooked now. We haven't even started yet," Mills teased. "I wasn't going to say 'death'. If you don't, it only means you'll have to take the paper exam instead. And believe me, the Pensieve will be better. Then again, it won't matter. Those who fail the first time will also have to do it again at the end of the year. Would you rather get it out of the way now or worry about it along with final examinations?"

Excited though she was about the whole prospect, Hermione couldn't help but raise her hand.

"You wish to know if I'll be teaching out of the book from time to time, continuing to teach countercurses and jinxes, Miss Granger? Yes. It's the same principle in reverse. You could very well have the courage, but it won't mean a thing if you don't know any spells. One can never go without the other."

Satisfied but uneasy, Hermione lowered her hand. She, too, was noticing the particular amount of interest Professor Mills was showing about Ron, Draco, and Harry, even as she put the Pensieve away and told everyone to get their books back out. Did she see a connection of fates between them, or were they carrying deep secrets? She must've. She didn't mention a thing out loud, although she kept a fixed eye on them from time to time…

…It was a mixed feeling when Professor Mills called the end of class and everyone stood up in preparation to leave. She was without opposition the best teacher they've ever had and they couldn't wait until the next lesson. Yet quite a few were also waiting until they could leave, putting the aspect of the Pensieve test far behind them. But not everyone was allowed to leave quite yet.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy. I kindly request a word with the three of you for a moment…yes, Mr. Weasley, I'm aware you have Professor Snape next. Strict as he is, he'll understand if you're late. Just tell him you had to speak with me."

Ron turned to Harry, shrugged, and walked over to the desk in the back where she was sitting. The Pensieve sat a ways from the center of the desktop, the obscure swirling of white circling the bowl, which for one reason or another was made of stark obsidian. Draco scowled and walked up from behind him, after much deliberation taking a stand beside Harry. Professor Mills didn't say anything right away. Her violet eyes were still in the process of scrutinizing every aspect of their faces, maybe their minds.

"What interesting fears you three have," Mills finally said. "Usually something not many young wizards your age think about. I understand yours perfectly, Mr. Potter. Everyone knows you've done great things, but to be called the "Chosen One"…too much pressure, don't you think? No one should be forced to go through what you're going through and what you've already went through."

Reluctantly, Harry nodded.

"Mr. Weasley, I've also read the papers, but your kidnapping wasn't at all traumatic as Rita Skeeter wrote it out to be, was it?"

Ron shook his head, scared she'd uncover all the other thoughts.

"And for future reference, if you don't want me to see it, don't think about it in the first place. Yet if I may, he speaks the truth, fantastic though it sounds. As for the other thing…you just have to see for yourself when the time comes. Depends on if a certain someone will make up his mind."

The last sentence was spoken with sharp agitation, and Professor Mills' head turned to Draco, who actually stepped back.

"All I wanted to address was that the fears of you three are formidable, even by a teacher's standards. So much so that I hesitate to take you on when the time of the Pensieve test comes."

"I don't wanna take a written exam!" Ron burst out immediately.

"As much as I hate to agree, Weasley's right. It can't be that bad, Professor Mills," Draco said with a protracted sigh of annoyance.

"Because you're not aware of your fears. Of course you don't know. But I do, and I wonder if it's something you can handle."

Harry thought about it for a while. At the start of term banquet that night, when she said the greatest defense you could have was courage…Harry always supposed he had quite a lot of courage. More than most, actually. Was it really true that he had enough to face Voldemort and the meaning of the prophecy when the time came, or was he in danger of crossing the line of overconfidence? This was a concept of Defense Against the Dark Arts completely new to him. What was his greatest fear? Lupin didn't let him face the Boggart in third year…and now that he thought about it, Draco never did either…

"I want to take the Pensieve, too, Professor," Harry consented.

"Are you three sure? I wholeheartedly support you and will continue to when we step into the Pensieve together, yet I want to make this perfectly clear. I don't like what I see."

"Like you said, we'll have to do it sooner or later," answered Draco breezily.

"And I really don't wanna take the written exam. I could fail sixth year and my parents'll be furious…great, now I sound like Hermione."

Professor Mills sighed, then smiled. There was going to be a high risk factor, but if these particular three overcame the visions only she could see in the deepest shadows of their imaginations, it'd be well worth it.

(End Chap. 21)

Me: Ooh, now the tension mounts!

Ron, Draco, and Harry: What's our biggest fear?

Me: (smacks them with a rolled-up newspaper) No spoilers allowed! Anyway, my readers, I hope that makes up for Chapter 19, although the overall importance of it stands. And in case anyone was wondering, I imported the OC Professor (Umira) Mills from one of my former HP fics, "Campfire". It was supposed to be my MF/RW masterpiece, but I ran out of steam.

Plushie: "What's the deal with Seamus and Dean?"

Me: That's a little obvious…could be not. We'll just have to wait and see about that, too. Now get to work, you lazy slobs. We got Chapter 22 to write!


	22. Villain, Heroine, and Elf

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: Let's see…I'm not sure how long it'll be until I write what will be collectively called "the Fear Chapters". Should be sometime very soon, hopefully. But we'll have to take care of some things first. First things first, today we'll cover the trio's meeting with Hagrid. Ooh, I wanna write the Fear Chapters so badly! I have big plans in mind. Big ones!

Draco: Then we better hurry with this one before you burst with excitement.

Plushie: (smirks) "That reminds me…"

Ron: Don't even start.

Plushie: (frowns and walks off, muttering obscenities that'd make rappers blush)

Lucius: (sitting in the corner as always) Rolling Chapter 22. (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 22)

…Harry and Ron hurried as fast as they could to Potions class, with Draco lagging behind at a more laid-back pace. Harry peeked over his shoulder and scowled; Draco almost never had to worry about being late to Snape's class. It was Gryffindor House who always lost points. In a matter of moments they descended further down, the atmosphere becoming more damp and depressing until they finally reached the dungeons of the castle.

It was a scarce two minutes, but it made all the difference in the world to Professor Snape. The second Ron gathered the courage to knock on the door, it burst open with the expected fury.

"Potter and Weasley. I hope you can scrap up a reasonable excuse as to why you're about to lose 10 points."

Was it supposed to be important that Harry picked up on the hesitant way he had said 'Weasley'?

"Professor Mills had to talk to us after class. She said you'd understand," Ron answered. He was still doubtful as to why that would get them off the hook. But before their eyes, Snape took on a whole new facial expression. It was one of extreme agitation, as if he was conflicting with something greatly. Even his eyes were taken off of them for a moment. Finally, he huffed and started back inside. Not taking any chances, Ron and Harry followed, still with Draco behind.

"Mills…hmph. You can count your points safe today. Despite your O.W.L results, you're fortunate we haven't covered anything of importance as of yet."

They took their seats quickly on either side of Hermione, thoroughly puzzled. Professor Mills had only just gotten to Hogwarts and her authority mattered more than Snape's? Harry wasn't sure if he could handle any more surprises this year…

…Later that day, Hermione, Harry, and Ron set out with the students who were taking N.E.W.T Herbology (that included Neville). However, they weren't taking the class themselves. It was another one of their breaks before class…Transfiguration at that. It was either now or after they were loaded down with post-O.W.L. Transfiguration homework. Hagrid's hut was just down the way and at the edge of the Forbidden Forest as it always been. A tune of a flute carried over to their ears; he had whittled himself a new one. They caught him at the right time; he wasn't teaching any classes at the moment. Despite the lack of student support for N.E.W.T-level Care of Magical Creatures class, Hagrid was still able to teach the first four years. He could still take pleasure in that.

The trio quickly descended the steep hill, the two newspapers in Harry's robe. Hagrid stopped playing the flute and started waving to them as soon as they got a few feet closer.

"Ah, I see ya remembered—Ron!" Hagrid suddenly said, catching sight of him. "Guess whatever you was grumpy about finally got done bitin'."

Ron looked away, thinking back once again to how he was in such a rage. "Yeah, I guess. By the way, nobody filled me in on why we're here."

Harry took out the newspapers and showed them to Ron, who gave them back to Hagrid when he was done. "While you were being held hostage by Malfoy, Fudge decided to use the whole thing as some kind of publicity stunt."

"Not a publicity stunt exactly, but he did make it kinda hard on the Order," Hagrid muttered. "I'm not sure if all that dung about him sayin' it all out loud was for tha interests of the community, but he got the message through—ev'ryone was spooked. Unfortunately Rita Skeeter found the story too appealin' not to cover, but Fudge got 'er under control. He kept it under wraps so the Prophet was only able to cover two full stories. Wasn't he at the exchange, Ron?"

The redhead nodded.

"Fudge is summat absentminded. In the end, of course, he didn't mind letting the Order handle negotiations...only 'cause he was so des'prate. But as ya can see he didn't go as far as blurtin' that out," Hagrid added half-jokingly. "By tha' way, how goes the new Defense 'gainst the Dark Arts professor?"

"Professor Mills is wonderful," Hermione exclaimed. "I'd even go back to that absurd Divination class if she's teaching it in shifts."

"She's definitely the best we've had. Nobody'll be able to cause any trouble in there. It's like she has Moody's fake eye," Ron added, although he sounded like he was sorry he wouldn't be able to sneak anything in that class. Harry didn't say anything. He was still attempting to figure out the fear Professor Mills couldn't even speak of. What could be scarier than what Harry had already witnessed?

" 'Arry, whassamatter?"

"Right! What'd Professor Mills keep you for?"

"We have a test next month. We're going to use a Pensieve to face our worst fears. Well, not 'the thing we're scared of most', but our 'worst fear'. She said there was a big difference. Anyway, she kept me, Ron, and Draco after class because she saw our worst fears, and she thinks we won't be able to handle them."

"I don't like the sound of that. If she's scared of your worst fear—" Hermione started.

"But we all told her we're going ahead and doing it. We have to do it again at the end of the year, so what difference does it make?"

"And it's a written test if you don't do it," Ron groaned. "Avoiding one fear to deal with another. A little unfair, don't you think?"

"It may not be so terrible," consoled Hermione. "I'm actually looking forward to it."

"This is our worst fear. Of course it's gonna be terrible!" Ron snapped back. "…I wonder what mine is. I can't think of anything that'd scare me worse than spiders—"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, "wasn't Professor Mills at the House of Black this summer?"

"That's what I realized when I saw her at the banquet."

"She must be doin' undercover work fer the Order. Just became a new member," Hagrid explained. "Met 'er the last week of August. Nice woman. In fact she warned me against keepin' Fang outside last night...and there was some unusual creature breakouts in the Forbidden Forest that same night! But…" He dropped his voice to a whisper. "…can't help but notice the tension 'tween her and Snape. Minute she walked through the castle doors he's been getting more suspicious. Almost like he's afraid of her. And he's bin a bit more kinder."

"Snape? Afraid of someone?" Harry scoffed.

"Well, you can't say she got us out of trouble with him when we were late. Just mention her name and Snape's practically giving out points to Gryffindor!" Ron mentioned. Harry thought about it. No, he couldn't deny it…but he was also wondering about his best friend. Mills had said something equally odd to him, too.

_"If I may, he speaks the truth, fantastic though it sounds…"_ Who was this 'he' she was talking about?

…Later that evening, Hermione was hurrying to Ancient Runes—although she wouldn't have been in any way late. She stopped at a crossways on the fourth-floor hallway and took the left corridor. It may make her walk close to what the students called a piece of the 'Slytherin territory', but she didn't mind if she had to endure a skirmish or two. Well, true to her confidence, Hermione didn't have to endure one, but she did overhear something very interesting…even interesting enough to make her skip the class.

She turned another corner and heard two gruff voices: they belonged to Crabbe and Goyle. Catching the words 'Potter' and 'Malfoy' in the same sentence, she stopped and hung back behind a wall to hear the rest.

"…Malfoy's gotta go through with it. Voldemort'll never forget it if he doesn't."

"…What does he have to do again?"

"He's supposed to fulfill some mission. Something about getting rid of Potter before sixth year is done. Malfoy says he can do this before Christmas holiday, though. It isn't that hard. He's in the kitchens right now."

"Isn't he missing Transfiguration?"

"Who cares about Transfiguration? McGonagall's classes are boring anyway."

"Zabini sure seems worried, though. Didn't he say this was something he could get life in Azkaban for?"

"No one's ever gonna know. He's talking Potter's elf-friend into giving him the pumpkin juice with the potion in it. Everyone thinks Potter's dangerous anyway. It'll just look like he got hexed by You-Know-Who or something. I wonder what he's gonna give his family as a reward…"

Their voices faded away as they walked farther away from Hermione's location. When she made absolutely sure Crabbe and Goyle were gone, she took another way to go down to the painting concealing the entrance of the kitchens.

The halls of the castle were eerily quiet at this time of day, making every little footstep echo. It made a person feel paranoid…it felt unnatural. Why, she never skipped a class ever in her career as a Hogwarts student! But if this had anything to do with Potter being in danger, she had to follow her instinct. What's more, whatever Malfoy was planning it had a direct connection with Voldemort himself. That made the whole affair ten times worse.

Despite these complications, Hermione practically marched down to the fruit painting. Remembering the secret behind it, she reached up and tickled the pear. Jumping around hysterically, the painting eventually revealed the doorway, and she walked inside.

Then just as suddenly as she felt brave, she almost ran back out. Immediately she was greeted by a group of house elves all too eager to do her bidding. (This wasn't what she had established S.P.E.W. for.) But there were more important things to worry about at the moment. Her first question could be answered immediately: what elf here did Malfoy know better than anyone?

Bending down towards one perky female house elf, Hermione asked, "Have any of you seen Dobby?"

"Dobby's never hard to find, miss. He's in the back talking to a Slytherin student," the elf replied.

"Hey, was the Slytherin blonde?"

The elf nodded.

"Thought so," she muttered under her breath. "I've been looking for him a long time. May I see him? I have something very important to tell him."

"They're near the rack of ovens. Would you like me to show you the way?" the female elf offered.

"No thank you. I know the way."

Meandering through a maze of house elves (and repeatedly declining offers of desserts and fruit), she followed a long counter up to the east wall and found herself at one end of the row of baking ovens. There at the other end were Dobby and Draco in the midst of a heated discussion. Much to Hermione's luck, though, Dobby didn't look too willing to follow the plan Draco had in mind. She knew that wouldn't work. Dobby might have been his former servant, but he clearly had a stronger allegiance to Harry.

"Dobby was freed from Master Malfoy by Harry Potter four years ago. Dobby doesn't have to do what you say anymore. Harry Potter is brave and kind and honorable and Draco Malfoy is a mean, spoiled little boy! Draco Malfoy has something bad planned. Dobby won't do it!"

"I do not have something planned!" Draco retorted, looking equally harassed. "I just want you to give him this cup of pumpkin juice at dinner. He's sick and I put some…medicine in it for him."

"Draco Malfoy was never friends with Harry Potter. Dobby knows what Draco Malfoy is up to; Draco Malfoy wants to do a mean prank!"

"This isn't a prank, Dobby. It's something worse."

Both of them turned to see her. "Granger, what're you doing here?"

"To be honest, I don't know myself. But I overheard Crabbe and Goyle saying you were up to something—trying to get rid of Harry on behalf of You-Know-Who," she demanded, arching an eyebrow.

Dobby gasped and shrunk away from Draco, pointing a gnarled finger in his face.

"Dobby was right! Dobby never trusted you—"

"_Obliviate_!"

Before Dobby could guard himself, Draco pulled out his wand and performed the Memory Charm on the house elf. For a moment it looked like he was frozen in time. After the initial shock wore off Dobby shook his head, his bat-like ears flapping every which way. With a confused gaze he turned his big, watery eyes on the two adversaries, repeatedly asking what was going on. Satisfied with his task, Draco smirked with a touch more malice than usual and started talking to the confused house elf.

"I was saying, elf, that I need you to deliver that goblet of pumpkin juice to Potter at dinner…"

From behind, Hermione pulled out her wand and was a second away from delivering an impressive hex she learned from Harry himself in Dumbledore's Army last year. In the nick of time, however, Draco ducked and gave back the tripping hex he used on Harry the same year. Bookbag and all, she made a messy landing a couple of feet away from Dobby, who was still confused. Trying to recover from the sting of the sharp and cold stone floor she turned around to see the blonde Slytherin looming over her.

"None of you ever get tired of playing hero, do you? No matter. You won't remember anything about this either, Mudblood…_Obliviate_!"

After the light from the spell waved off, Draco performed the Petrificus Totalus spell on her for extra measure, then ensured that Dobby went through with the plan not knowing what happened just a couple of minutes before. Luckily for him, Dobby seemed willing, not questioning whether the two had any friendly relation.

However, faint voices of a seldom-used conscience (i.e., Blaise) kept repeating in his head. Well, he was too far now, and the haunting rasps of Voldemort overshadowed his ex-boyfriend. Just in case this plan didn't work, the dragon-shaped bottle dangling from his necklace still held over half of the Malefecium Elixir. It didn't take much of the potion to drive a person to agonizing insanity.

Making his way back through the elves, he left the kitchens, looked both ways and started towards the Slytherin Common Room. He sighed heavily. Something was continuing to bother him, something more great than whatever Blaise could do. But he wasn't ready to accept it, even if it was true. Even if this wrenching pain in his stomach was guilt based on suppressed love, his desire for Potter held no importance compared to Voldemort's ultimate plan.

(End Chap. 22)

Me: Mmm…I don't have much to say about that either, except Draco might be kicking himself in the morning.

Draco: It couldn't have been that easy.

Me: (hums, like people do when they know something nobody else doesn't) Patience, my muses, patience. Until Chapter 23! Sorry this took so long to get out, by the way. Most of my muses were drunk during Karaoke Night so they weren't much help during these past couple of weeks.

Harry: I wish you wouldn't lead us on like this, and I only had two cups of brandy!


	23. Read Your Mind

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: So the last chapter didn't quite make sense. Don't worry; what'll come next will overshadow that rushed-out episode.

Lucius: Of course it made sense. They went to Potions class and Severus acted like a big wuss just because Mills said to excuse them. Then they went and talked with Hagrid, and then the whole chapter ended on a messy climax which ended up with Hermione frozen, Dobby losing his memory, and Draco on his way to finishing his mission. But did he really finish? And why is he acting like such a big wuss now? That's what we're here to find out.

Ron: Also, it would've been longer and a tad bit more structured, but the public needed you more. And even then who gives a damn because the plot's gonna get _way_ better from here on out. In fact, today we have another dream sequence planned (maybe even better than Chapter Fourteen's), and the ending will totally blow you away.

Me: …Wow. Thanks for clarifying that. I may have to start paying my muses…well, you guys anyway. Harry, Draco, get off your duffs and do something!

Harry: You want us to do something? (takes out wand and says "Accio Oliver Wood!". Oliver does appear, but…)

Draco: (covers eyes, but peeks once in a while) Apparently he was in the middle of an after-game shower…

Plushie: (pops in with camcorder) "Now THIS is the money shot! No wonder they call him 'Wood'!" (records with interest)

Me: (trying to recover from nosebleed) Thank you, Harry. Thanks a lot. Rolling Chapter 23! (clicks remote) Someone get Oliver a towel!

New Note as of Sept. 29: Pay attention to the change about the Memory Charm bit. At first I said they were irreversible, but thanks to a certain faithful reviewer, my mistake was corrected. :D

(Begin Chap. 23)

…How was he supposed to know that casting Memory Charms on house elves had adverse effects?

It had been an entire forty minutes Draco spent, sitting at the Slytherin Table between Crabbe and Parkinson and watching Potter sip his pumpkin juice. His bluish-gray eyes watched him across the Great Hall with the greatest of care; he almost forgot to eat, he was so nervous. Every once in a while his eyes would slip to just a few seats away at his own table where Blaise Zabini was sitting. He must've gotten the hint that Draco went through with it—he would give a dirty look in return and look away as if he was embarrassed to have ever been Malfoy's former flame. Between that, staring at Potter and giving Hermione the once-over to see if she hadn't recovered her memory, the blonde was a ticking time bomb.

To explain Hermione's re-emergence and give another factor into Draco's unhealthy nervousness, Dumbledore himself found both her and a dazed Dobby in the kitchens. Draco kicked himself for being so unorganized. He should've relocated her somewhere else and removed the Freezing Charm, or else Dumbledore wouldn't have initiated a small-scale investigation. Even then, it wasn't his biggest concern. Even if he had been caught right then and there, he would've walked to Azkaban happy that he was able to carry out the plan on behalf of the Dark Lord.

Well, he wasn't captured. As ambitious as he was when it began, for some reason Dumbledore suddenly arrived at an inconclusive solution and disbanded the investigation, only giving a note to the Auror task force to better enforce security. It was hard to disband the teachers, though. Everyone knew that Memory Charms were reversible, even improper ones performed on house elves. But as you'll see later, Dumbledore had an ulterior motive and did his best to fend off McGonagall's inquiries. Doesn't he always? However, the truly harmful news was delivered when Draco decided to check back with Dobby to see if the delivery of the pumpkin juice was successful.

Which brings us back to the adverse effects of Memory Charms. As soon as Draco had left the kitchens, the spell relapsed, therefore when Dobby turned his attention back to the goblet sitting on the oven, he dismissed it as an old goblet which had been left to sit out.

Which meant that all of Draco's hard work for that afternoon had been drained into one of the sinks.

Thinking back on Dobby's halfhearted explanation now made him grit his teeth. Draco stopped. Gritting one's teeth was unbecoming, and it only increased the ferocity of his headache. Never mind the pumpkin juice being drained down the sink. He had another chance to try. The dragon-shaped bottle was almost full. It was still September.

It was an hour past curfew in the Slytherin boys' dormitories. A waning crescent lurked outside; darkness reigned inside. Crabbe and Goyle were snoring as usual, and Blaise went to sleep straightaway. (How long could someone keep a grudge?) Draco was lying on his bed with the curtains half-drawn, trying his best to calm down and reassess today's failure. Some way, some how, he would find that golden bridge between the Malefecium Elixir and Harry Potter's throat.

For now, however, he would just have to sleep on it…or was that a mistake, too?

…_Running, only running._

_The moon was above him, spying through the tree branches flying by, as if it was mocking Draco's feeble attempts to hide. The necklace around his throat jangled, reminding him of the horrible fact the bottle was completely empty. Out of everyone's book to take a leaf from, why Dobby's? Why did he pour the Elixir down the drain? That had been his family's only chance for repentance! What business did he have betraying his own family?_

_The winds surrounding him shrieked about the imposing trees of the Forbidden Forest to tell him it was late October, much too late to give Potter the potion anyway, even if he had any left. Where _was_ Potter? The Death Eaters had infiltrated the castle, hoping to find a raging Harry helpful to their cause. Voldemort was there also so nothing would be left to chance. Stopping to catch his breath for a moment, Draco glanced behind him. A portion of Hogwarts was in flames, with dark clouds gathering on the mountainous horizon. _

_What was the point of clouds? Even if the coming rain quenched the fire, it wouldn't bring back the dead._

_As soon as he heard the first screams echo throughout the castle walls, Draco knew he had to run. Lucius and the Dark Lord were there, expecting to see him and congratulate him. Congratulate? He just placed the greatest Dark wizard of their time in a very vulnerable position! It was the old adage that if you weren't part of the solution, you were part of the problem. _

_He could feel it with every breath. He would run out of strength soon, but the Dark Lord wouldn't be tired. He'd still possess the strength to kill him, if not his father first._

_Draco stopped again, this time collapsing to his knees by a tree. Hogwarts was no more than a burning dot on the horizon; he had ventured deep into the Forbidden Forest. No, Voldemort wouldn't be able to reach him in time. Maybe the centaurs would take care of it for him. As was exampled by Umbridge before, they didn't tolerate trespassers. Would a bow through the heart be more merciful than the Killing Curse? _

_He had nowhere else to go. Without really knowing it, he had wrought ruin upon both sides of the war. He had wrought ruin upon all of wizarding Britain—no, Europe. Hell, maybe the world would take notice of the great mess he made. All he knew was that he had ran from both sides. The good side wouldn't take him back; the dark side would shun him. Numbly, Draco wrapped his cloak tighter around himself for warmth, but it didn't do any good. It was nearly ripped from snagging on so many branches. (And besides, warmth was such a funny word for a time like this.) He looked up at the moon and shivered. This _had _to be as deep into the forest as you could go. How long had he been running? Where had he planned on going? Were these the last moments of his life?_

_There was no one here to see. His reputation wasn't important any longer. If he was to die here, at least the last thing he could do was hang his head and let an endless river of tears wet the dirt and leaves at his feet. Quiet the tears were, but they expressed every singe of pain he ever felt in his life. He feared he'd never stop crying. Maybe he'd cry out every ounce of moisture and he'd die suddenly of dehydration._

_But in all truth, he didn't want to die. There was so much regret he'd leave behind in this world._

_Most of all…_

_It was a miracle in the midst of a nightmare. The next time he looked up, Blaise was right in front of him with a smile on his face. The forest's shadows made him seem more like a haunting image of Potter._

"_I'm surprised at you. All that talk about fulfilling Voldemort's destiny and you couldn't complete a simple delivery? I guess there was heart left in you after all…"_

_Wait a minute. Blaise's voice had changed during the last sentenced. Blinking back his tears, Draco was shocked to find that his ex-boyfriend had warped into Potter himself. How could he be here? But there was no denying it. No one could mistake those emerald eyes burning through those rounded spectacles._

"_Heart left for me, right?" Harry smirked and laughed softly. "I guess everyone isn't as they seem."_

"_What're you waiting for?" Draco asked gruffly._

"_What do you mean?"_

"_You know bloody well what!" Draco barked, standing up weakly. "Go ahead and do it."_

"_You don't really think I'm going to kill you?" Harry replied cynically, all traces of lightheartedness gone. He drew his wand and started pacing a semicircle around the desperate Slytherin._

"_Everyone's dead. You know that, right? Dumbledore, Ron, Hermione, everyone. Both you and I are alone. What difference does it make if I kill you? No one's here to keep score, and it's obvious you already crossed the line to fight Voldemort's influence. You were simply a pawn in his plan; you have no power. What's the point of killing a powerless pawn who couldn't even do his job? If at all I'm proud of you. It means you resisted temptation, meaning you're not as evil as you seem."_

_Closer._

"_But you were right about one thing. There is no good or dark side anymore. It's just us against Voldemort."_

_Closer…_

"_Just us…"_

_It was like the best antidepressant mankind's science could ever come up with; the strongest magic that could ever be conjured. Against this unearthly cold, Potter's lips held that awkward warmth…but it wasn't awkward. It was the genuine love Draco had been searching for. If there was any hope to be found, it'd be here, within the Boy Who Lived._

_The dark-haired boy's kiss went deeper, as if there was a certain flavor he was trying to obtain. He sat on his knees and straddled the blonde, one hand pinning him against the tree. The other hand was gently holding his face. The winds died down, knowing they stood no chance against the heat the two were generating. Draco could tell Harry was desperately trying to control himself. However, the hand that was on his face had moved to the skin under his shirt, caressing it softly. His body started to tingle. Should he allow his own hands to wander? _

_No time for second-guesses. His own hands were answering him. Harry was pushing him up against the tree so hard, if they didn't stop soon bark imprints would mar Draco's back…_

_Suddenly Harry stopped, detaching their lips. Confusion was written all over Draco's face._

"_Why…?"_

_A finger was put on his lips. Harry was still extremely close—too close for Draco to see what he was doing. He could feel it, though. Harry's arms moved him away from the tree again, enough room for him to put one arm behind the flustered Slytherin._

"_I had a reason for doing this. As angry as I was it wouldn't have been in me to let you die a horrible death, and I wanted to face Voldemort with a clear conscience."_

_Something was horribly wrong. It was like they had taken turns crying. Two uneven streams of tears were pouring out of his green eyes and past the rims of his glasses._

"_I really do love you, Malfoy. But as I said, there's no good side anymore."_

_Draco was really trying to pay attention since it was a big deviation from what he said just five minutes ago. But a stick was jabbing him in the back…he peeked around to see…_

_Wait._

_Harry rested his head on Draco's shoulder, embracing him tightly with one hand. He whispered something softly...he couldn't hear what it was…sounded like…_

"—_davra."_

…Blaise was jarred from his sleep at the sound of a hysterical, screaming type of sobbing. He took out his wand and whispered '_Lumos_'. Crabbe and Goyle continued to snore loudly; it was really true that they could sleep through anything. Then it could only be one other person.

He jumped out of his bed, ran to Draco's bedside, and shoved the curtains away. Whitish strands of hair were blown every which way, some plastered to his forehead by cold sweat. His eyes were as wide as they could humanely be, the same being said of his mouth that was causing the noise. The old instincts coming back, Blaise climbed into the bed beside him and grasped him tightly.

"It's okay! Draco, wake up!" Blaise yelled over his screams. A minute longer, then Draco simply proceeded to shake all over, sniffing and trying to catch his breath. Still, he was nowhere near the condition of being able to talk. Asking no more of him, the dark-haired boy put him in his arms and began rocking him back to sleep. As it were, Blaise spent the rest of the night with Draco in his arms.

…Meanwhile, Professor Mills was wandering the castle, on her way to Dumbledore's office. She experienced a strong disturbance while meditating on this night, and Dumbledore was the only one to confide in, especially with the news she just received.

After a long while of walking, she finally reached the gargoyle protecting the staircase. Whispering the password, the gargoyle jumped back to allow her in. Refastening her cloak, she carefully climbed up the stairs.

The moonlight reflected all across the place. The air was filled with soft snores coming from the sleeping portraits. Mills swore that if she was ever able to obtain Dumbledore's office, she would. There were so many shelves to put all her mystic paraphernalia, and there was an observatory to boot! A smile was on her face for a while, then she remembered the task at hand.

"Umira?"

She turned to see Dumbledore ascending from a lower level of the office.

"Professor Dumbledore, I believe you're already aware of my cause for being here," she explained, her words almost merging together. "My other cause, I mean—thank you, I _will_ take a seat. Anyway, I didn't think the circumstances would develop this fast. Just tonight, for instance…"

Dumbledore waved a hand and smiled warmly, immediately silencing Mills.

"Yes, Umira. I'm perfectly aware."

Mills gaped at him. "You already know?"

"Yes. I knew it from the minute we discovered Miss Granger frozen in the kitchens. And you also saw the strange way Dobby was acting. I believe you're familiar with the effects of a Memory Charm," Dumbledore said quietly. "Of course, improperly performed the results are a tad different for house elves—anyone in that manner. I don't think Mr. Malfoy was counting on that."

The redheaded woman shook her head.

"Not that I want to question your methods, Professor Dumbledore, but it's a little unfair not to tell anyone else."

"This is the Order's business and no one else's. If anyone else knew it would further compromise your mission, which is why I left Dobby's and Miss Granger's altered memories intact. You arrived here undercover to see if the Elixir entered Hogwarts grounds, haven't you? And we have our answer. However, now I feel that the investigation was unnecessary. A soft heart such as myself may be expecting too much, or it could be that Mr. Malfoy expects too much from himself. Either way, I'm placing my trust in the fact that he will be the one to undo the trouble he'll come to cause for Harry."

"Wait a minute!" burst out Mills. "You're _allowing_ Draco to _finish_ his mission? Wouldn't we be putting his friends—and yourself—in danger? The poem says—"

Dumbledore nodded again. " '_Enemies become friends, friends become foes, then you will face life's terrible woes._' Yes I am aware. But do you know the next part of the poem?"

A little irritable, Umira recited it.

" '_The antidote is simple, if that is what you seek; find your true love's lips within a moon's week_'…but isn't that a little far-fetched? Merlin knows I've been watching Harry carefully over these past couple of days, and I'm not a sixth-year student in Ravenclaw House anymore, but I can already tell it'll be quite hard to find Harry's soul mate. Who in this world could be compatible with a boy who's seen so much death and suffering so early in his life? At first I had Mr. Weasley's little sister in mind—"

Dumbledore shook his head.

"No? Oh, not Miss Chang again!"

Shake.

"Hermione Granger? They've been friends forever!"

Negative.

"Parvati? Padma Patil? He went to the Yule Ball with one of those two sisters."

Shake again.

"None of them? I'm about to run out of guesses, Albus."

"Not every young wizard's love can be found in a young witch. And it's also very rare that your true love stands right next to you. Umira, let me ask a question of you."

She looked up, attentive on where Dumbledore was going with his cryptic talk.

"To answer one of your questions, the only person who could be compatible with Mr. Potter would be someone who has went through a similar experience. Probably not death, but more than his share of suffering and neglect," Dumbledore answered. "And something else. Whether the creator of this Elixir meant for this loophole to be created or not, even I'm not sure, but I can detect one as plain as day, and if our intuitions serve us correctly Mr. Malfoy will solve the investigation for us."

"How?"

"Umira…what if your greatest love was your greatest enemy?"

(End Chap. 23)

Ron: I WOULD'VE NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT!

Draco: (rolls eyes) I've seen it from miles away.

Harry: What a heated nightmare…so…(pant)…hot and heavy…(pant)…need…water…

Lucius: (pours water all over Harry) Is that to your liking?

Harry: I was savoring the tingly feeling.

Plushie: "You backstabber…literally!"

Me and Harry: It was only a dream, Plushie.

Plushie: Tomato, to-mah-to…anyway, until Chapter 24, you desperate reviewers.


	24. Short But Sweet

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Harry (in the corner): Everybody hates me now…(pout)

Plushie: Dammit, who made my sweetie cry?

Me: I did, and look who's talking! Just last chapter you called him a backstabber! Besides, they're only mad at the Dream Sequence!Harry. Anyway, my reviewers must be reading my mind.

Lucius: How so? I thought only Professor Mills could do that.

Me: They're clambering for more Ron, and although we're nowhere near ready to go back to Lucius/Ron, we DO have to turn our attention to how Ron will settle this other matter; that determines whether he goes back. For one thing, it's not a girl, and for another he's gonna get some advice first.

Ron: Finally, some well-deserved popularity! I worked hard to get it, if I do say so myself.

Plushie: "If by 'work' you mean answering Lucius's every beck and call, including performing gratuitous acts even Draco wouldn't do in his wildest Harry-related fantasies, then yeah, you've pretty much sweated yourself out.

Ron: (turns red and brings out a flamethrower) Why you little—

Me: If you two don't start getting along I'll lock you in a dark closet with rabid Ron/Hermione shippers!

Ron and Plushie: (gulp) We'll be good.

Me: Good. And one more thing. For those Seamus/Dean fans, this chappie's for you. (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 24)

…Two weeks passed since the minor incident in the kitchens. Aside from that, things had been going along as usual…or at least, as normally as they could be, which wasn't much. The Aurors were now patrolling the grounds round-the-clock, fearing another slip-up. McGonagall was a little snippy towards both Dumbledore and her students, knowing with all her heart he was hiding something, and it made her more than uncomfortable. On a number of occasions at breakfast and dinner, she could be seen sitting by the other Heads of Houses discussing the matter with bent heads.

On the students' part, they were busy not only with the first onset of a real homework load, but also preparing for Professor Mills' test. Slytherin House had even more on their plate due to a circulating story that turned out to be true. In the middle of the night a couple weeks back, Draco had been admitted to the hospital ward and stayed there for a couple of days to recuperate from—well, whatever he was recuperating from. There was no explanation at all except for the vague description given by Blaise. And as you know, whatever goes on with Draco Malfoy invariably affects Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

The excitement barely stopped there. Speaking of these three, Harry had been garnering a lot of unwanted attention due to a sudden flood of newspaper reports calling him the Chosen One. It had been mostly girls from lower years, presenting him with gifts, flattery, and condolences. Hermione spent her time studying and figuring out what was wrong with McGonagall, her unofficial favorite teacher. As for Ron…

It was another unusually chilly night in the middle of September, and Ron was where he could almost always be found at this time of night: laying in his bed in the boys' dormitory, mulling over his predicament, sadly suppressing emotions he had never felt before. A vision of blue eyes the color of ice and just as cold appeared in his mind once more…long blond hair…a strong grip that could always push him down into a mattress…green eyes…

No, wait. He was describing Harry now.

Crap.

This had to be resolved now.

Where did his heart lay for either person? In Lucius' case it was fear and a longing to be protected and cared for, but in Harry's case he felt a strong responsibility to be the protector. With Harry's life in so much danger, he began to feel that he wasn't doing anything to help, not even on a personal level. At first Ron thought it would do him good to seek out the company of a girl. Horrible idea. Either the girls were afraid of him or he was afraid of them; he could never tell the difference. The only other solution he could come up with was to simply strengthen their own relationship—no! Friendship! He meant friendship! Where did that come from?

No, it didn't do any good to deny it anymore. This was why he forced himself to leave Lucius in the first place. Every once in a while Ron indulged himself in a brief fantasy, yet he always felt guilty when he did. The other side of himself that was in his fantasies—the seductive, aggressive Ronald Weasley—couldn't be unleashed and confuse Harry any more than he was now. Then again, what if this was exactly what he needed? But did Harry even love other boys, much less his best friend? Who's to say he didn't love Hermione (God forbid)?

But if that was the case, why did Harry want him to join the Quidditch team so badly? Why were Harry and Hermione always together, and yet Harry never took the opportunity? He certainly did with Cho.

It was probably a little selfish, but Ron needed to hear it from his own mouth. He wanted Harry to tell him that their friendship was important to him…and he also wanted to Harry to hear how important he was to him…not just to hear, but to see…to feel…he wanted him so badly…

His thoughts were broken by a crashing sound. Ducking behind the curtains of his four-poster bed, Ron had no chance of being immediately seen by Seamus and Dean (who seemed to have burst through the door). He probably wasn't going to be noticed at all, seeing as how the both of them were snogging the faces off of each other. It was sort of expected, but it was still a sight to see. Wait a minute—wasn't Dean dating his sister?

Keeping hidden, Ron blushed crimson and continued to watch as the two bestowed affection upon each other while making their way to Dean's bed. Pausing to catch a breath, they took turns shedding their heavy black school robes. Should Ron make himself known? He coughed discreetly. No response, as Seamus and Dean commenced to kissing, now tearing apart each other's shirts and ties. Ron shook his head, still embarrassed. They were totally oblivious to the world, in their own little love nest.

Becoming aroused, Seamus dared to brush his hand up against the other boy's crotch, successful in making him moan with desire. Up until now Seamus had been on top; now Dean used all his strength to turn him over. It was just that difficult—he didn't know how, but over the summer Seamus had gained two inches.

Dean was about to exact revenge for that 'innocent' little brush-up. He bent down and licked a small circle on the surface of the sandy-haired boy's neck, then bit down gently into his soft flesh. Seamus cried out, then uttered a long series of long groans, knowing that the spot he was chewing on would be bright purple by tomorrow.

More kissing ensued, but it was a different kind of kiss—a hesitant kind of kiss. Both boys knew they couldn't avoid the real fantasy any longer. Each one was waiting for the other to make the first move (and Seamus's didn't count. It was a playful touch). But there was something else prolonging the moment…

It wasn't so much that Dean was confused; he knew exactly what he wanted. But he had to at least give due to Ginny. She had been nothing more than a shield for his own desires. Why didn't he know three months ago—better yet, why was he so stupid as to choose a girl he barely knew over a close friend who pulled him into the boys' dormitory for a quick, frightened kiss? He could only find one bright spot in this situation: there was one night where Ginny asked—better yet, demanded—to be made into a woman two years earlier than was allowed legal, and Dean flatly denied her. His excuse was that he 'wanted things slow', but really it had gone too far. Personally it was a big turn-off when someone asked for it. Seamus sure didn't.

Speaking of which, without giving it conscious thought, Dean had stopped paying attention to his newfound lover entirely. However, he was abruptly brought back down to earth when someone's hand wandered where it shouldn't have been. Dean grinned and reached down for his zipper, beginning to gladly oblige. At this point Seamus's pupils were nearly dilated; he was so turned on. If friction didn't happen soon he would explode.

Ron sat transfixed, his eyes glued to the bed where the two teens were now getting very heated. He didn't want to admit it, not even to himself, but he was becoming jealous at the show of affection these two were sharing with each other. Now that he thought of it, he couldn't see himself doing anything like that with Lucius…

Wait. What'd he say? Lucius? No! He meant Harry! That damned Death Eater was seeping into his thoughts again. He had to wait until this thing with Harry felt right or wrong. But—still—he envisioned himself lying with Harry, waiting for the dark-haired young man to make him move…_bang!_

Speaking of making moves, Seamus and Dean had now fallen into a heap into the floor. It'd only be a matter of time until he really saw something he wouldn't want to see. Unfortunately for them, it was time to end this. Ron stood up and tiptoed towards the door, amazingly still not garnering any attention. He slipped out the door quietly, waited a few moments more, then re-entered the room.

He wasn't sure whether to continue to be embarrassed or to burst out laughing. The two boys were now lying on the floor, tense and stiff as rocks. Hurriedly they scrambled around for their clothes, soon becoming a blur of buttoning and zipping up and shocked faces.

"Sorry, was I interrupting?" Ron asked innocently, not meaning it in the least. Both blushed, but Dean in particular looked guilty. Everyone who was anyone at Hogwarts (except maybe for the first-years) knew Dean and Ginny had been dating.

"Ron, if you're going to beat me to a pulp because I ditched your sister, then get on with it," he mumbled.

"Um…I don't know what to say, actually…but while we're on that, would this have anything to do with what Professor Mills said that first day?"

Looking very relieved (yet at the same time confused), Dean nodded in earnest. "We'd been fighting like that all summer because I suddenly started avoiding Seamus at the end of fifth year. We had a bit of an incident when we…er…shared a kiss."

"When?" Ron asked in shock.

"Last March. It was a little awkward—only lasted for 'bout two minutes and it was in the dark. Then Dean started acting weird, and I thought he…I thought he hated me," Seamus said quietly, looking pained at the memory.

"Which, of course, wasn't true," Dean shot back defensively.

"Then why didn't you talk to me?"

"And I suppose you'd walk right up to an old friend who you just walked up to and snogged one night and act like nothing had happened. What was I supposed to say?"

"Weren't you two about to dirty up a few minutes ago? Now you're fighting again!" Ron said in exasperation. "And here I thought you two'd be able to help me with a problem of my own."

At this news, both boys' ears perked up. It was the usual custom that if anyone in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory had personal problems, the backup pair of shoulders-to-cry-on aside from your personal best friends would be those two.

"Love?"

Ron nodded.

"A boy?"

Another nod.

"Harry?"

Ron froze in mid-nod. Should he really trust this dilemma to the two most notorious matchmakers of Gryffindor House? Then again, would he also be so stupid as to not trust this dilemma to two boys who was responsible for eight successful match-ups, one being between a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin?

"Well…"

"Don't even try denying it. It's so obvious," Dean stated, rolling his eyes upward.

"Really?" Ron retorted. "Then by all means tell me why it's so obvious. Best friends can be close, can't they?"

"Ron, you stink at Quidditch."

"What's that supposed to mean!"

"Well, at least you're better than Dean." (At this Dean made a face at Seamus.) "If you hate playing in front of people to the point where you can't tell the difference between a Quaffle and a Bludger, why'd you try out for the team in the first place?"

"Um…er…" the redhead stuttered. Seamus grinned devilishly.

"Make it easy on yourself and admit that you did it to be closer to him. I also remember two years ago during the Triwizard Tournament, the second trial at the lake?"

"What about it?"

"Harry, Viktor Krum, Diggory, and Fleur Delacour had to rescue who they would miss most; their treasure, right?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Krum had to save Hermione, Delacour had her little sister, and Diggory had Cho Chang. Who does that leave?"

After a minute more of stuttering, Ron gave up and shrugged his shoulders. "It couldn't be just some kind of stupid coincidence, could it?"

"Personally I think you two are destined. But just to be absolutely sure, we're gonna have an investigation. We—including you—will follow Harry around and watch his every move and take note of his reaction when you're around him or when you're mentioned," Dean said. "Then again, there is the possibility he might be interested in another person."

"Like who? Like my sister?" asked Ron, beginning to panic.

Seamus stuck out his tongue and shrugged. "That's a big doubt, and that's also where you come in. In fact, didn't Harry disappear just an hour ago? There's not even a Gryffindor Quidditch practice scheduled today. He may be meeting someone _right now_."

With a sigh, Ron got up and walked towards the door.

"I hope you two are right."

" 'Course we're right. We're Gryffindor's personal matchmakers."

Ron smiled and disappeared around the bend. A second later, he returned.

"One more thing, mates. The next time you barge into the dormitory, check to see if anyone else is in there."

(End Chap. 24)

Me (atop an enormous 'mountain' of wrinkled-up paper): Yes…yes…YES! HAH! I've conquered you, you damn writer's block! Schoolwork can get in the way, and other mortal matters can drown me, but I swear this fanfic shall not go down in obscurity! It'll be the most fabulous Lucius/Ron saga this world has ever seen! Mwahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Ron: She's crazy, but then again so is the reviewer she hired to write this chapter. Agent Number Three, thanks for the juicy Seamus/Dean action. Our entire organization is forever indebted to you. Hope you and everyone else stay tuned for Chapter 25.


	25. Six Degrees of Separation From Malfoy

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

(Everyone's back in the theater, and its lavishly decorated in emotionsofmydesire's honor. As usual Plushie is drinking all the wine.)

Me: If there's any lesson a fanfiction author can learn from their experience, one of the most important ones can be this. When a severe case of writer's block grabs you by the nads, you can always count on your faithful reviewers to pull you out of your stink, even if it stinks like rotten cheese. In particular, we're thanking one particularly fervent reviewer, emotionsofmydesire. (YOU ROCK!) In all honesty the thanks go to her, since Chapter 24 was her idea, Seamus/Dean lime included.

Plushie: Finally, someone who shares my vision of full-frontal wizard nudity!

Lucius (walks in with a telegram): We received mail from some association called "G.I.R.L.S (and Ron's Adorable Indecision)". They couldn't acronym-ize the rest?

Me: It stands for "Groupies Incarcerated Rallying (for) Lucius's Sexiness…and Ron's Adorable Indecision". (grabs it) "_Need more Lucius/Ron. Stop. Stop the madness. Stop. Sincerely, G.I.R.L.S. (and Ron's Adorable Indecision)_". I keep telling you people I need to set up a precedent! Precedent, people—which translates into hot Harry/Draco tension, so stop your belly-aching! Have I ever let you down before?

Ron: Well, there was Chapter 19. For me, it was when you started this fic…AND when you made me wear this! (points down to what he's wearing, which is the French maid outfit Lucius bought)

Me: Oh, shush. You look adorable.

Lucius: No arguments here.

Ron: O.o

Me: Anyway, you all remember Harry's stalker from HBP? Well…time for Chapter 25! (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 25)

…He looked very different, lying there in that bed of white sheets. His white-blonde hair, always neat to the point of unhealthy obsession, was slightly askew on the pillow. For once his blue eyes didn't stare mockingly or glare; they were innocently closed. If Harry didn't know better Draco had a twinge of worry on his face when he slept. He wondered what he dreamed about, if he _did_ dream. Well, if he did, his dreams must be better than the nightmares Harry got regularly, at least.

Harry didn't even know what he was doing there: at the hospital ward, sitting by Draco Malfoy's bed. It'd be a history-making statement to say he was actually worried. Him and Malfoy were true enemies. It could've been that in these uncertain times, anything weird that happened had a potential connection to Voldemort and therefore was never to be taken lightly. Then again, why would the Dark Lord attack the son of one of his most dedicated followers? If Hermione were here, maybe she'd have the answers—maybe. There were times now where even she didn't know. Besides, she was recently attacked, and ultimately, when the time finally came, Harry would have to fight Voldemort alone. He had to think for himself, to draw upon his own cleverness.

The pictures hanging on the walls of the hospital ward stared at the two of them every once in a while. Even they were aware this was something one didn't see every day. Harry adjusted his glasses and glanced at the window. The skies were dark velvet, dim stars hanging in its fabric. It was about eight in the evening; another hour or so and visiting hours would be over.

It had been difficult to get this time alone. Almost all of Draco's followers came out of the woodwork to check up on him regularly, which left Harry to stand by and wait. (Of course he also had to attend a couple of his classes in the meantime.) When he returned at 6:30 PM, he had happened to pass by Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. Pansy had been badgering the dark-haired Slytherin for some answers.

"Well, what happened!"

"He was just tired, Pansy. Now stop bothering me," Blaise said in exasperation.

"Liar. I know my Dracie-poo. Sure as hell he didn't exhaust himself doing schoolwork like that beaver-faced Granger. Face it, Zabini; he's got some serious illness over the summer, or maybe…is it true what Crabbe was talking about? About—"

Pansy stopped in mid-sentence and looked around with a frightened glance. As soon as she saw Harry, she grabbed Zabini by his shirt collar and tugged him around the corner so he couldn't hear any more of their conversation. Extremely curious he was, Harry let it be and continued to walk towards the hospital ward.

Fortunately those had been the last of Malfoy's visitors. Despite the looks he was given by Madam Pomfrey, she allowed him in to see him. He had been there since.

Hermione stopped by once to check up on Harry, giving him the piece of advice that this wasn't a good way to start out sixth year. Harry argued back by saying he at least went to Potions class so as not to peeve Professor Snape further and that something was seriously the matter with Malfoy. If even his closest lackeys didn't have a clue, something suspicious was going on. All Hermione did in response was roll her eyes and leave, saying she hoped he would be in the common room soon. Harry frowned and disregarded it, remembering her quite unfair accusation of his so-called case of extreme heroism in fifth year.

His elbows started to hurt. Harry folded his arms and propped his chin above them, leaning into the sliver of soft mattress not occupied by Draco's body. Many thoughts ran through his mind. After a while longer, he started speaking them out loud.

"Something bothers me about all this. First Hermione, now you. I don't know why, but it just is. 'Course, what Hermione said could be true—she's just about always right. Maybe I am overreacting—"

"I…wouldn't…put it…above…you."

Harry jumped up scared to death, calming down when he saw Draco's eyes slightly open. Arching his eyebrows, he propped himself up on his elbows.

"What're you doing here, Potter?"

For all the time he had been here, Harry didn't anticipate and prepare for him to ask that—or for him to wake up at all. Madam Pomfrey had told him he had been in and out of it (more out than it) all day. Speak of the devil…

"Mr. Malfoy? Ah, you're awake," Madam Pomfrey observed, stopping in the middle of walking past with a bottle of an unidentifiable liquid in her hand. She seemed to glide over as she put the bottle on Draco's nightstand and put a palm to his forehead.

"You still didn't develop a fever. That's good. Your friend Zabini carried you here; told me you had a terrible nightmare. The shock simply had to wear off—nothing to worry about. Just rest for a couple more hours and then you may be released."

She picked up the bottle and whisked away again. Draco cringed, then faced Harry again with a fierce glare.

"You tell anyone about this and—"

"Stuff it, Malfoy. I didn't come here to make fun of you. What's so embarrassing about having a nightmare, anyway?" Harry asked with marked sarcasm.

"But no one faints from them. Not like how you fainted from the Dementors."

Harry scowled. "You _still_ haven't forgotten that?"

"No, not really. Now answer my bloody question."

"Would it worry you if I said I was worried about you?" he asked with the smallest hint of a mischievous grin. Draco was taken aback, for once not able to think up of a witty retort. Fortunately for him, he didn't have to.

In the next second the door creaked open, and a girl's face peeked in. The minute she saw Harry, she broke into an extremely bright smile and skipped into the hospital ward with a beautifully wrapped box. Harry groaned while Draco looked on with an inquiring eye. They both knew who she was.

"_Harry_! I've been looking for you everywhere!" she squeaked.

"Hey, Romilda," he replied unenthusiastically.

"I have something for you…I was thinking when you told us all about how you faced down You-Know-Who last time, and I was really impressed. That was so brave of you! My family's half-Muggle, you know; you practically saved my life—!"

Draco sincerely tried his hardest to hold in his raucous laughter as the young girl laid the flattery on thick. This was one of Harry's own devoted followers, Romilda Vane, a fifth-year student along with Ginny Weasley. At every opportunity she got she thrust upon him all kinds of gifts, virtually all of them in candy form, all the while going on about how courageous and handsome he was. But Harry knew better; the candy was always laced with potent Love Potion. He learned that the hard way in the first week of September and it became an incident all over Hogwarts—certainly something Draco knew about, which was why he was laughing so hard in the first place. Romilda was never one to give up.

Then again, how was she able to find him? He was sure it hadn't been just luck.

"Harry?"

Now Ron was coming in through the door. Almost immediately he took on a doubly irritated expression: first at the fact that Romilda beat him here, secondly because Harry was here—with Malfoy, no less. As quickly as he could, he grabbed his friend by the arm and helped him escape from Romilda's persistent grasp. The box of chocolates was left on the nightstand. That left Romilda to stand there, stunned at how fast her object of desire disappeared before her eyes.

Again, Madam Pomfrey emerged from the supply room with a couple of pillows and stopped at the sight of her and the bedridden blond recovering from the giggles.

"For goodness sakes, visiting hours are almost over! I wasn't aware you had this many friends, Mr. Malfoy," she exclaimed.

"Oh, no, Madam Pomfrey. I was here for Harry, but he left," she sighed wistfully. The nurse shook her head and continued on her way.

The minute she was gone Romilda walked over to collect the box, then stamped her foot.

"He's always doing that! Leaving _just _when we find time alone together! I don't care; I'll find a way to capture his heart even if it takes until the end of the year," she swore.

Then it was as if someone had performed 'Lumos' inside his head.

As whiny and pathetic of a fifth-year Romilda Vane was, she could be of much use to Draco's plan. If she was successful once at slipping Harry a Love Potion, what were the chances she could deliver the Malefecium Elixir as well? The only question remaining was if she would trust him. No…she had to. Not even this girl would be stupid enough to pass up a chance—even if it was false hope—to become the girlfriend of the Boy Who Lived.

It was now or never.

Before she could leave, Draco called out to her. She stopped and glanced at the blond Slytherin suspiciously.

"You're doing it the wrong way…with the wrong potion."

"What would you know? This plan was perfect. His friend interrupted is all." She sighed again. "As far as I know this is the only way I'll get Harry to like me."

"And you'd be so idiotic as to not trust a sixth year? Someone in my own year tried to slip me a Love Potion once. It didn't work, but she was older than you, so she was able to make a stronger Love Potion than what you made. This one is a red color, but you can put it in pumpkin juice and it won't even show. Lasts longer, too."

That perked Romilda's interest. "A stronger Love Potion exists?"

Draco nodded. "I want Potter off my back; you want him on yours. I put it on my honor. In about two days you'll have Potter at your feet."

Well, she had nothing else to lose. Even if it meant trusting a Slytherin, Romilda Vane always got her crush no matter what it took. Eager to learn of this new strategy, she shut the door.

…"So how did she find me?"

"I told her to try the hospital ward; Hermione said you were there—she wouldn't stop bloody pestering me!" Ron added when Harry gave him a sidelong glance. "She's looking for you, by the way."

"What for?"

Ron shrugged. "Something important. She wouldn't talk to me about it—"

He paused, a pensive and menacing spark coming into his eyes.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with my kidnapping, would it?" Ron threatened.

"How am I supposed to know what she wants to talk about?" Harry said defensively, raising his arms in such a stance. "You just told me!"

After a while, Ron took his word for it and kept on walking. A little ruffled up, Harry followed him at a distance. He was still touchy about that subject. Whatever happened at the Malfoy Manor must have been very traumatic. Now that he thought of it, he could've taken the time to ask Malfoy about that, but at the speed Romilda had burst in he probably wouldn't have gotten any closer to some answers.

They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, and Ron gave her the password. The frame swung out to reveal the door, and they walked through. At the other end of the dim-lit common room was Hermione, sitting somewhat complacently on the couch and for once not busy with homework.

"Well, I got him for you, Hermione. I'm going to bed," Ron pronounced with an exhausted tone.

What he had asked before about the conversation potentially being about him and his stint as a servant for the Malfoys, paradoxically must have been true. As Ron climbed the stairs to the boys' dormitory, Hermione followed him closely with her eyes, making extra sure he went up there. The minute the dorm room closed, she motioned for Harry to sit on the couch with her. She pulled out from underneath one of the cushions that day's issue of the Daily Prophet.

"Is this about Ron again?"

"Actually, it's more about Mr. Malfoy, but this may have a link to Ron. It shocks me they didn't put this on the front page, but it'd probably have been better for Ron if they didn't."

"What is it?" Harry asked impatiently.

"Just look at this article." She flipped it open to the second page and handed it to Harry. The picture shown was a barely moving, glowering image of Lucius. The bold headline read, "_Shocking Story—Inside Murder? Malfoy In Ministry Battle_".

Harry read the first three sentences out of curiosity…how was murder connected to Ron?

Then his jaw dropped.

"Wait. What does this have to do with Ron?"

Hermione pointed to the third paragraph. "Keep reading. He reportedly said that when he's done settling the legal matters, his choices as heir to his estate will be expanding. He doesn't say outright, but he does mentions a "reliable, trustworthy personal servant he had acquired over the summer. He also says '_If truth be told, I had developed quite a close relationship with him. Next to my son, he is certainly someone I would gladly leave my fortune to_.' "

"And of course he's talking about Ron, right?"

"Who else?" Hermione took it back and reread the sentence. " '_If truth be told, I had developed quite a close relationship with him._' I hate to say it, but this could be exactly why Ron was feeling so down after the exchange happened. This could go deeper than Stockholm Syndrome."

Harry gaped at her. He hoped with all her might what she said wasn't true. And how would Draco, still lying there in the hospital ward, take the news?

(End Chap. 25)

Ron: I'm going to be rich! In your face, Malfoy!

Draco: If you so much as touch my fortune, I will kill you!

Me: (whistles) But aren't you wondering who got murdered?

Everyone: (looks at her curiously)

Lucius: Why do I feel guilty all of a sudden?

Me: If you know, keep it a surprise, my faithful reviewers! Until Chapter 26!


	26. Sadness and Fortune

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: Okay, a couple of chapters ago some guy/chick gave me quite a nasty review, criticizing how I'm letting the Harry/Draco relationship develop. Well, I've decided to rebuke the statement. For one, it's not simply hate-suddenly-turns-into-love kind of thing. May seem like it, but that's exactly why I want to make my story different. You see, my theory is that Draco had always had affections for Harry. However, he's hiding it under the rage that has built up from years of frustration and jealousy. His father may also have had a hand in influencing him. Of course: Harry is Voldemort's enemy, and so he is Lucius's, and so he _must_ be Draco's as well. Harry, take it from here.

Harry: Finally, under the pressure of the war culminating, there's the possibility that many fanfiction authors explore. That possibility is that as Draco realizes how horrible Lucius and Voldemort really is, he becomes tempted to come closer and closer to the side of good—meaning he'll realize the source of his frustration. Some _have_ made the mistake of jumping to the ending before they analyze all the other aspects, which is how Harry/Draco writers usually get bad reps, but we here at B&DD are well aware it goes deeper than that. That's why—even though I wanted to introduce the Second Big Climax around Christmas—it'll take a while to set the relationship up.

Draco: What's even more clever is that we're incorporating Harry being fed the Malefecium Elixir, which'll of course make things even more complicated.

Ron: So sit back and enjoy the crazy ride, and we'll get back to me and Lucius sooner than you think. Let's go to Chapter 26, eh? Rolling! (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 26)

…About an hour after lunch was served, Draco stood outside the first-floor painting of the bowl of fruit with the jumping pear; it laid to rest now, unlike it had a few minutes ago. Although Draco had put a powerful Memory Charm on Dobby, he didn't want to risk being remembered, so he sent Romilda. As it was, she was a fifth year, which fit even more perfectly into his plan.

What he first had to take into account was that she always served him Chocolate Cauldrons—after the second time it was obviously going to be predictable. So, he had to write a letter to his father and explain in detail how getting a box of deluxe caramel-filled wands would fit into his plan. After receiving them yesterday, Draco laced two of them with the Elixir. This morning he equipped himself with a darkness powder made from a Peruvian Vipertooth as well as his prefect badge. He actually had to step foot inside the Weasley twins' new store in Diagon Alley to get the powder, and they hadn't been the best of hosts.

The powder was simply to get out of trouble if necessary. The prefect badge was exactly why it was crucial for Romilda to be in fifth year. The elves weren't particularly aware of everything that happened inside the castle, much less who was appointed prefect for their house…

It had been almost ten minutes already. It didn't take that long to ask elves to serve something. Draco was about ready to tickle the pear himself when the frame swung open. Romilda stepped out, quieting down the elves' submissive chatter in a whisper.

"No thanks, I really don't want anything. Thank you, though. Bye!"

Romilda closed the portrait door and skipped merrily to Draco's side, who was beside himself with a smirk.

"I can't believe it! Harry's going to fall in love with me!" she bellowed. After Draco shushed her, she repeated, "I can't believe it! Harry's going to fall in love with me," in a whisper.

"The elves gave me their word; they'll be serving the plate at the Gryffindor table next to Harry at dinner. But how can we be sure if he gets the one with the Love Potion in it?"

"He will. We didn't spike all of them; only two. It'll be better if he eats both of them, but at the least he should eat one. Did you also find the goblets for Gryffindor Table?"

Romilda nodded so vigorously, his head almost fell off.

"Then nobody else will have an appetite for the caramel wands either. The silvery-green liquid I told you to put in their drinks was a Persuasion Potion—old-fashioned magic, but at least it won't counter the effects of the Ma—the Love Potion. You have nothing to worry about," the blond reassured. Under his breath he added, "and neither do I…"

In all truth, he truly didn't have anything to worry about. He wasn't caught in the act, and he had a liability. It couldn't have gone any smoother. The Malfoy family would renew their respect at last.

They were just about ready to make their departure when Zabini rounded the corner with a newspaper in his hand. Upon meeting Draco's eyes with his own, he ran over to him and took him aside with no acknowledgement of the fact Romilda was standing there, looking confused as usual.

"Draco, here you are, thank Merlin," Blaise said in a shaky voice. These words alone let the blond Slytherin know that whatever he said next would change things—forever.

"I'm sure your father's told you already. Draco, I—"

"Told me what?" Draco asked, a terrible look of concern washing over his face. Blaise never acted like this. Something was wrong…horribly wrong.

"He—he didn't tell you? Didn't you read the paper!"

Without a word more he handed it to him.

…Meanwhile, Harry, Hermione, and Ron were attending study hall. In a bizarre paradox it was the most relaxed and the tensest study hall they'd ever been to, though. The oddest thing was that McGonagall was the teacher overseeing today's study hall, and she didn't seem to care. The room was mostly filled up with fifth years and above, trying to figure out their worst fears and—if they even could—the best way to get past them. The last week of September was almost upon them, and so was Professor Mills' test.

"I…don't know…what my worst fear could be. I've spent all week thinking on it," Hermione admitted hesitantly. Her bushy eyebrows were scrunched up deep into a furrow. She almost said another thing, and then her lips clenched and she changed it.

"I might as well finish my Ancient Runes homework. We moved on to deciphering the pre-developed Ogham alphabet."

Harry was propped up on his elbows, wondering the exact same thing. He remembered Lupin telling him that he was afraid of "fear itself". Did he mean fear personified? If so, what was all his fears rolled up into one, something that would scare even Professor Mills? She could've at least gave him some warning…

Finally, to top off this strange hour, hurried, shuffling steps were heard coming closer to the open room. Everyone looked up and fell into a revered silence as Dumbledore himself walked up to where McGonagall was standing. A moment of fearful whispers and an audible gasp from McGonagall was all they needed to know to realize something was up. McGonagall looked around the room with an extremely tense expression on her face, stopping to stare at Ron. By this time Harry was beginning to get used to it, so he placed it at the back of his mind to mull over it later.

"Where is Mr. Malfoy now?" she whispered.

"In Umira's office…"

There was more to that sentence, but they weren't able to overhear the rest. McGonagall took another worried glance, then whatever she was torn between, she finally made up her mind.

"Apparently I have to see to a personal matter. Continue with your studies until the hour is done, please," she instructed in the calmest voice possible, but everyone only became even more restless. Suddenly Dumbledore leaned into her ear again, and she added:

"Mr. Weasley, if you will accompany us. Take your belongings."

Ron shared a bewildered look with his two friends, then put away his books and followed the two adults out of the room. Harry watched them as they left, then turned to Hermione with narrowed eyes.

"Draco," he said simply. Hermione nodded, her eyes straying from the esoteric Norse code.

"Don't tell me you have a mind to follow them! They'll see you for sure!" she hissed. "And besides, there's something I have to tell you. This must mean Malfoy's just found out—so you know what you have to do."

Harry continued to stare.

"By all means, try not to fight with him over the next few weeks. I dislike him as much as you do, but—"

"I know," he said directly, then in a far-off, dismal voice he added, "Of all people, I should know."

…Ron's apprehension had been bad enough when he reminded himself he was walking with the headmaster himself. What was so important that he was going to help Dumbledore with a 'personal crisis'? The feeling only grew when he realized exactly where they were going. They were walking towards the fourth floor. He thought he heard them whisper something about 'Umira's office'…oh great. Next to Snape, Professor Mills gave him the creeps. But he also heard Professor McGonagall say 'Mr. Malfoy', and his heart soared. Wait. Or did she mean…?

Dumbledore stopped at a door and rapped on it briskly. At once it swung open, and there stood the redhaired woman. Her violet eyes immediately fixed on Ron, but she spoke to the two adults as she led them all in.

"Really, Mr. Dumbledore, there was no need to bring Ron—"

"How long have we known each other, Umira? Seven years you were in Ravenclaw, and now as a fellow alumnus. By all means, call me Albus."

She pouted in that certain way that meant that was the least important thing they could talk about at the moment. She began to usher them into the back of the room (used in the night as the teacher's bedroom), but before they had taken their first step Ron heard a hysterical sobbing and the blunt, deep voice of Professor Snape. Ron's stomach sunk deeper; he wasn't sure which sound was more dreadful. But he knew he heard that sound somewhere before…an uncontrollable kind of crying, almost like a scream…

His heart skipped a beat. It was Draco's cry.

Time also seemed to skip a beat; his eyes instantly met the sight of Draco sitting on the small bed behind the partition, his cheeks puffy, and his gray-blue eyes that familiar, bruised shade of violet. He was always thin when he cried—it was the dehydration from crying. The only thing separating now from then was that he wasn't curled up in the corner of a dim-lit room, bleeding through numerous cuts in his pajamas. Sitting in an ornate wooden chair beside him was Snape, with a facial expression Ron was sure he was only going to witness now and never again. It was the expression of both shock and sympathy…

Snape looked up and immediately noticed Ron standing there. After a while, so did everyone else.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley. We should let you know what is going on. As you've noticed, Mr. Malfoy has received some rather gruesome news recently," Professor McGonagall started to explain, "and it relates to You-Know-Who and his forces."

"I do not know if you are aware or not, but...there's been another death," Dumbledore started to trail off, but Professor Snape stared Ron straight in the eye and pronounced:

"You've been the Malfoys' servant this past summer. Would it trouble you to know, Weasley, that Narcissa Malfoy has been dead as of the night before?"

Ron's eyes grew as large as they could, and he glanced at Draco for an explanation. He couldn't have heard that right. Mrs. Malfoy was _dead_? But…but how? When? Draco glared at him for a moment through tears, then nodded and scowled, sniffling anew.

"Wha—?" was all Ron could choke out before Dumbledore interrupted for a further explanation.

"About a month ago, various Death Eaters—among them Peter Pettigrew—had been accusing Mrs. Malfoy of acts of treason. The allegations had been misleading for the most part until she apparently dared to cross You-Know-Who personally last week. She'd been hiding out at the le Fays' mansion until, by way of the Imperious Curse, a Meredith le Fay surrendered and uncovered her hiding place. She was found and killed immediately, but not before they performed the Imperious Curse upon her as well."

He was already done, but he would've stopped anyway due to Professor Mills giving him stern looks and glancing back at Draco, who had begun to shudder.

"There had been deep suspicions in the Ministry that Lucius Malfoy had set up the murder himself. However, he had been found innocent of conspiracy. However, this murder has raised questions about his inheritance. I don't know if any of you two read the Daily Prophet, but what they've said is in fact true. You two now stand as heirs to the Malfoy estate."

At this Draco stopped crying _immediately_ and gave the strongest glare he had ever given to Ron, who shrunk back just a little. That was scary coming from him. Even Professor Snape was forced to look up at Dumbledore with incredulity, McGonagall doing the same.

"He named Weasley as an heir? But—"

"_That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!_" Draco shrieked, preparing to burst into tears again. "No way will Weasley inherit one bloody Knut from my family! It's not as if they're married! They only acted like it!"

McGonagall looked down at Draco with a puzzled expression that almost made Ron burst out laughing, but then he realized Draco had said too much.

" 'Acted like it'?" she inquired.

"Mr. Malfoy has apparently been harboring emotions for Weasley ever since that day when he kidnapped him in Diagon Alley," Professor Mills piped up. Everyone looked at her then, except for Draco, who was still shooting dagger looks at Ron.

"You mean—Malfoy's father and Mr. Weasley—"

"Are romantically involved," Snape finished for McGonagall, who now looked as if she would faint right then and there. Dumbledore looked strangely serene, as if he'd known this whole time. Professor Mills certaintly did, but she stepped towards Ron and bored into him with her violet eyes.

"Is that true, Mr. Weasley?" she asked, although it was more on behalf of her fellow colleagues that she was even bothering to ask.

Ron had been caught, hands down. He was standing before Draco, Professor Snape, Professor Mills, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Dumbledore in one closed room. He couldn't lie to all of them in their faces, especially if one was a true Seer and one was a direct witness of what had happened. But if he told the truth, they would most likely prevent them from seeing each other again. Then all their waiting would have been in vain.

What could he say?

"If it's true, I certainly hope something will be done!" McGonagall burst out at last. Ron's heart dropped along with his stomach. It was the beginning of the end.

"But can Lucius truly be considered a threat to Weasley, Minerva?" Snape asked.

"_Lucius is forty-four years old!_" McGonagall shouted at him, taking a leaf from Draco's book. "Mr. Weasley's only sixteen! And Mr. Malfoy has been proven to be a former—if not a current—Death Eater! You don't consider that a threat?"

"He can't be much of one if Weasley's so taken with him."

"But he doesn't know any better!"

"Yes I do!"

McGonagall looked back at Ron with a severe glance. Ron bit his lip, yet he didn't back down on what he said. "Sorry, Professor McGonagall. I meant…he isn't fooling me. We…uh…I mean—"

"So you return Lucius's affections?"

Ron looked down and blushed, saying nothing else. He caught himself.

"I believe that speaks for itself," Snape replied cynically. McGonagall threw up her hands and turned to Dumbledore and Professor Mills.

"Well! You two have the final say. What should we do?"

(End Chap. 26)

Lucius: Yet another cliffhanger lets this story hang in the balance. But we did answer a major question for the reviewers—

Draco: (runs in, jumps on my back, and attempts to choke me repeatedly) YOU KILLED MOTHER! NOW I MUST KILL YOU! (points at Lucius) And YOU don't feel any sorrow, you sadistic bastard!

Me: May…I…remind you—ack—that this…erk…isn't real life! Your mother isn't really dead! And even then, technically Voldemort killed her, not me!

Draco: IT'S THE PRINCIPLE! AND YOU'RE LETTING WEASLEY INHERIT HALF OF MY FORTUNE!

Ron: Oh boy. Let's see where this goes, and if Draco was actually successful at slipping Harry the Malefecium Elixir, next time in Chapter 27 of Black and Deep Desires.


	27. Deconstructing Ronald Weasley

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

(The theater is decorated for both Christmastime and New Year's, and the muses are all dressed up. Harry is dressed as Santa Claus, Draco is Mrs. Claus (complete with slinky short red dress and red lingerie), Ron is a reindeer, and Plushie is Baby New Year. However, he ruined his costume swimming in the bowl of wine. As for Lucius…)

Lucius: (walks in wearing green tights, pointy ears, and a green hat with bells) I refuse to be an elf. My son's already dressed as Santa's Little Prostitute. You need more despicable entertainment?

Me: Oh, come now! 'Tis the season! Besides, you're not just an elf; you're a handsome, strapping, sexy, blonde elf-man. Legolas got nothing on you. Anyway, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all my loving reviewers! As of March 2006, B&DD will celebrate its one-year anniversary! (cheering) What makes today a big occasion is that we're beginning the Fear Chapters!

Ron: Fear Chapters?

Me: If you haven't noticed, B&DD falls into segments. Chapters 1 through 17 made up the Era of Servitude. 18 through now is the Era of Ron's Adjustment, but Chapters 27 through approximately 29 or 30 in particular will be the Fear Series. As you know, Hogwarts' students have been preparing for the Defense Against the Dark Arts test. Of course, I must warn you. (Theater turns pitch-black and a dim spotlight turns on me) We'll now be entering one of the most frightening parts of the story. The question is, are you READY! Mwahahahahahahahahahaaaaa!

Draco: (turns lights back on and adjusts the straps on his girdle) May I remind you its Christmas/New Year's, not Halloween, you maniac. So, happy holidays and all that jazz. Rolling! (clicks the green remote)

(Begin Chap. 27)

…That same evening, following her custom, Romilda sat a distance away from Harry at the Gryffindor Table. Her eyes were just about dried up from watching him without blinking for minutes on end. Draco wasn't sitting at the Slytherin Table, and Ron wasn't at his place either. She was disappointed Draco wasn't there to witness their glory, but she was ecstatic Ron wasn't there to distract her object of desire.

Further up, Harry was solemnly picking at his food. Hermione was looking at one of the double doors behind the High Table as if she was expecting someone to walk through them. She was. She wasn't nearly as prying as Harry, but if her instincts were proven right this time, Ron would know a lot more about the cause of Mrs. Malfoy's death. The details in the Daily Prophet had been sketchy. What was it about her death that compelled Mr. Malfoy to make Ron a standing equal in his estate? It was one question after another.

"I just can't believe it. Mrs. Malfoy's…"

Hermione nodded. Only once before had she known someone who had went through the pain of losing a mother, and he was sitting here before her. It was an interesting thing to think about. After this, would Draco finally back down and take the time to understand everything Harry went through? Would he finally stray away from his father's dangerous habits?

Then her eyes fell on a golden serving plate a little to the left of Harry. On it was a modest pile of caramel-filled wands. Just as quickly as she looked at them, however, she wasn't in the mood to eat any and glanced back at the parchment she had been looking over. Harry looked up and saw the same plate. With a small smile he remembered Lupin's cure for an encounter with a Dementor.

His fingers got a safe grip on one of the caramel wands at the bottom of the pile when Harry heard a creak. Ron entered the Great Hall and came to sit between Harry and Neville. Breaking tradition, there was a long moment of uncomfortable silence. It was particularly frustrating because Ron's face was a fascinating mix of worry, fear, and absolute confusion. Finally, Harry broke the silence and asked the long-awaited question.

"_Well_?"

"Well what?" Ron asked listlessly.

"What did Dumbledore want to talk to you about?" pressed Hermione.

Another moment of uncomfortable silence, then… "I don't even know where to begin. Let me just spit it out. Mrs. Malfoy—she's dead. You-Know-Who killed her. I didn't know her that well since she left before I came to the manor, but…why _her_, you know? Mr. Malfoy's been faithful to You-Know-Who, right?" Ron explained fast in a flustered voice. "And that's not even the half of it. Now Malfoy's dad wants me to inherit! They took me to Professor Mills' office to tell me everything, and Snape and Draco were there, too…"

Ron stopped when he saw that—no matter how hard they were trying—Harry and Hermione didn't look at all surprised. It didn't take him long to figure out why.

"You knew about this?" he asked angrily. Casually, Harry popped the caramel wand in his mouth, but Hermione immediately tried to plead their case.

"It was in yesterday's paper," she said. Ron raised one eyebrow. "You said it yourself that you didn't know Mrs. Malfoy that well!"

"Not that! Why didn't you tell me Mr. Malfoy made me an heir!"

"Also something you said yourself. I thought you told us you never wanted to talk about your time with the Malfoys ever again. Now you're mad at us because we didn't tell you that Mr. Malfoy was talking about you in the paper?"

"I said I didn't want anyone asking any more bloody questions about what he did to me over the summer—which was nothing," he added hurriedly. "You two were probably talking behind my back again, weren't you? And anyway, we must have gotten along pretty well for him to even think about me after this wife died!"

"Like his lover?"

Harry and Ron turned around and Hermione, sitting opposite them, directed a pointed glare as they heard that derisive remark coming from Draco Malfoy. They hadn't even noticed him walk into the Great Hall, probably because he almost never entered from the doors on their side. Still, it was a really unusual insult. Little did Ron know that it meant all wrath within the younger Malfoy had come to a boiling point. Considering all the consequences that happened so fast, he had every reason to be angry. What no one had ever been aware of—not even Ron—was that Draco loved his mother more than he loved his father. Scratch that. He tolerated his mother; _despised_ his father. Not that he didn't want a position in power. It was how Lucius pushed him and abused him to prepare him to do it. Now his mother was dead and the third-most despised person on his list would potentially become a part of his prestigious family? Why was he even bothering fulfilling a mission on behalf of Voldemort if he killed the only person he ever even remotely loved?

It was all he could take.

He was going to destroy Ron Weasley here and now.

"The only reason Father wants to let Weasley in on our fortune is because Weasley worked for it, and I damn well don't mean scrubbing floors."

"If you're going to say something useful, Malfoy, say it or leave us the hell alone," Harry snapped, momentarily forgetting his promise.

"It's just that there's something I thought you two should know. Apparently Weasley didn't bother to tell you—"

"Shut up!" hissed Ron, eliciting more surprise from his friends.

"Why should I? All the teachers know. Blaise and I knew from the beginning. Your friends were already suspecting. You really think you'd be able to hide it any longer, slut?"

There was no better time for Harry to have swallowed that second caramel wand. Malfoy was trying to reach a new level of nastiness, if that was possible. He smacked his hand on the table and stood up.

"Something useful, Malfoy. Last chance," Harry clarified in a deadly whisper.

Draco smiled. He said it, not him.

"Fine."

"Malfoy, no!" Ron shouted. By this time, everyone at the Gryffindor Table was watching.

"But Weasley, you didn't want to tell your little friends you had a new boyfriend?"

Harry lowered his fists and stared at Draco as if he'd lost his mind.

"You wasted our time to tell us that?"

Draco's smile got even wider. If he had been a demon, he would've bared his fangs.

"It gets even better, Potter. It's my _father_!"

Everyone in the Great Hall could literally hear the collective intake of breath caused by the Gryffindor Table gasping more or less in unison, then they did so themselves. Hermione slowly put her book back down, revealing her dropped jaw. Further down the table, both Romilda and Neville had spilled pumpkin juice on themselves. Quite a few people at the Slytherin Table were either smirking or cackling. They liked nothing more than to see a Gryffindor's reputation soiled. Blaise, on the other hand, was absolutely furious…

Ron slid back down to his seat, his eyes wide open. He was, among all the other emotions churning inside him, shocked, helpless, and more embarrassed than he had ever been in his life. Not ever had Draco done something so cruel. Ever.

"W—What?" Harry sputtered.

"And Scarhead finally gets it. Why did you think he didn't want to tell you anything? While Father was holding him for ransom, they got in too far over their heads. Didn't you also notice how sad Weasley was when he came back? He had a guilty conscience. He betrayed you all, Potter, and he betrayed me. I'm not at all surprised he helped Father and Voldemort get rid of Mother." This brought on another bout of gasping from the room. "Poor Weasley; he wants to go back to the manor so badly. He wants to get his hands on my father again…or should I say, Father wants to get his hands on him?"

Nothing else was said. The reverberating slap planted on his cheek by Ron was enough. Before Harry could even speak, Ron grabbed his bookbag and stormed out of the Great Hall.

…That evening, the common room and dormitories of Gryffindor House—and all the other Houses for that matter—were as full as they ever would be, abuzz with gossip. Copies of that day's Daily Prophet were passed around like napkins, which didn't make it any better for Ron's predicament. The article today only confirmed the previous assumptions about Lucius Malfoy making Ron his heir, as well as revealing the same details Ron was let in on at the meeting in Professor Mills' office.

The common room door swung open. The various students paused in their discussions to see who it was. Most importantly, they wanted to pester Ron with about a hundred questions. It was a harassed-looking Hermione, tired from traipsing all over Hogwarts searching for her redheaded friend. Ron didn't go straight to the common room. He was nowhere to be found as far as she was concerned.

Ignoring the people crowding around her, she marched up the stairs and knocked on the door. She knew Harry had holed himself up in here since that fateful confrontation.

"Harry! Harry, are you there?"

The door opened just a crack, showing Dean's face. "Hi Hermione. You just missed him."

She rolled her eyes and puffed out her cheeks. "Great. Now I can't find him or Ron. They both disappeared on me. Did he say where he was going?"

Dean shook his head.

"I was afraid of that. Ron didn't come back, either?"

Dean shook his head again. Hermione sighed again and walked away, uttering a thank-you. The door closed, and if Hermione had stayed a while longer, she would've heard Seamus say, "I guess Ron was right."

…As it turned out, Ron was at the one place neither Harry nor Hermione thought to look: the Owlery. The Ravenclaws had Quidditch practice, so he couldn't have went to the pitch for some time alone. Hagrid had been in the Great Hall right along with them; he couldn't go to the valley either. This was the only place he wasn't going to be judged or scorned. The only eyes scrutinizing him were those of the owls. Ron had chosen a good time to go. The sky was cloudy, the wind constantly blowing as if rain was about to fall; the air had that certain smell. Since the wind was blowing, the overpowering smell wasn't that overpowering.

He wasn't crying, first and foremost. He had cried all the way to the Owlery, he was finished. Now he was sitting just outside the doorway, wondering what his next move should be. When he went back to Hogwarts, the insults would only begin anew. He had to talk to someone, anyone.

Ron gripped the wall behind him and crawled back up to his feet, then walked into the Owlery itself. He didn't feel like going back to Hogwarts and fetching Pig. He'd just use one of the school's owls. He walked around until he found a placid black-spotted owl that didn't screech at him. Reaching into his bookbag, he pulled out a piece of parchment, an inkwell, a feather, and a book to put the paper on. Trying desperately to avoid sitting right on the floor, he wrote out a letter:

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_I don't know if you'll even be able to read this since the Ministry's probably on your back, but I had to write this to you. Remember what we said about December? Well, I really thought I'd be able to wait, but ever since the Daily Prophet started writing those articles, everyone's got on my bloody case about what happened. And it's only gotten worse, Mr. Malfoy, much, much worse—_

Ron stopped, wondering if he should go ahead and tell. It only took two seconds.

_Your stupid son told everyone at school about our relationship…if we even have one. You never even told me if there was anything between us. I guess that doesn't matter now; everyone thinks I'm a traitor and that I helped you kill Mrs. Malfoy just to get your hands on your money. Hey, I want you to explain that, too! Why did you make me an heir? Are you crazy? I was only your servant. Anyway, I know it was risky to do, but I had to talk to you. I've been branded as a Death Eater, plain and simple. I didn't know who else to talk to. Even Harry thinks I betrayed him. If you can do anything, anything at all, help me._

_Ron._

He got up and walked to the carved-out window, folded the letter twofold, and ripped out a long black thread from a corner of his school robes. He used it to tie the letter tightly to the owl's leg. With a flying hand he sent the owl out of the window and on its way to the town of Wilshire. If there really was anything Lucius could do to help him, he would appreciate it.

"Sending letters, are you? That's not usually what I do when I'm depressed."

If it wasn't the last person on Earth Ron wanted to see. Harry walked up to him with his arms crossed in front of his chest and an expressionless face. He didn't seem furious or upset, though.

"What do I have to be depressed about? It's just that all of Hogwarts is accusing me of _murder_ and shacking up with _Malfoy's dad_ and Malfoy's finally succeeded at making my life a _bloody living hell_!" Ron snapped in a rare moment of ingenious sarcasm. "No, I'm not sad…just really pissed off. And I s'pose you're here to finish the job."

"Like I'd believe anything that git says. But still..."

"What?"

"Still…it's too much of a coincidence. You were trying to stop Draco from saying something, and in the paper Lucius himself was quoted as saying you two developed a close relationship. The only reason I came to talk to you is to ask you what I've been trying to ask you since the start of term. If you answer this time, I'll drop the whole subject. Now for the last time, is there anything at all going on between you and Mr. Malfoy? Did he force you to do anything?" he asked. Ron looked down.

"He might have feelings for me, but I don't feel anything for him," Ron boldly lied. "Come on; he's a forty-four year old man and a Death Eater bent on killing you. And no, he didn't force me to do anything."

"Why were you so depressed after we got you back?"

"I told you that on the train. The important thing's that I'm fine now, so you got nothing to worry about," Ron answered sheepishly.

Harry raised an eyebrow, then finally looked satisfied.

"All right. But, as your best friend, I'm going to give you some advice," Harry warned. "Just because you answered my questions doesn't mean you're telling the truth or not. Malfoy only said what he did to get under my skin, I'm sure. But, if I do find out you've been lying this whole time, it won't be Malfoy you'll have to worry about. I don't spare anyone working for the Dark Lord…even if they are my best friend."

(End Chap. 27)

Ron: Was I just threatened by Harry? Was I just embarrassed by Malfoy? (jumps on Draco) YOU PANTY-WEARING BASTARD!

Me: This is the second time a fight's broken out at the end of the chapter. HEY! We need to do the Countdown!

Lucius: Why?

Me: I'm pretty sure Chapter 28 won't come out until after New Year's, so we're going to have our New Year's celebration now! Plushie! (Plushie shakes up 2,006 bottles of champagne and holds the cord which is tied to the corks)

Plushie: Ready! 10…9…

Ron: 8…7…(punch)

Harry: 6…5…

Lucius: 4…3…

Draco: 2…1…(OW!)

Me: ZERO! (Plushie pulls cord and theater is flooded in wine)

Everyone: (says drunkenly) HAPPY NEW YEAR! WOO! YEAH! (hiccup) _See you in Chapter 28_!


	28. Finnegan's Wake

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

(Theater is trashed. Everyone's drunk and dead asleep except for Lucius, who's making some sort of drink that'll make us sober. It involves raw eggs, pepper, club soda, more club soda, ice, and a blender.)

Lucius: Whether you like it or not, I'm the only one who was smart enough not to get dangerously close to having alcohol poisoning.

Me: (gurgles and groans)

Lucius: The B&DD team would like to extend their holiday greetings. Dr. Kim-chan was thoughtful enough to churn out this chapter as a New Year's present. Hopefully this drink will make them sober by Chapter 29. Dr. Kim-chan also wanted me to make some things clear. One is that what Harry said to Ron at the end of last chapter was in fact the first sign of the Malefecium Elixir taking hold. Second is that so as not to arouse confusion, anything that happens in the Pensieve will be written in italics. With that said, as Dr. Kim-chan says, rolling. (finds remote under a pile of empty bottles and clicks it)

(Begin Chap. 28)

…Another week and a half passed slowly over Hogwarts. The sun began to appear less and less through the dominating clouds. Sometimes they brought nothing; sometimes they brought a sprinkling rain. The temperature was dropping gradually. More and more, as students looked towards the tree line of the Forbidden Forest, green changed to all the hues of the sunset.

October had finally arrived.

Finally, on the first Tuesday of the month, the sixth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins were pouring over their lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts class when Professor Mills made the announcement. The days Ron spent in here during the past weeks (actually, all of his classes) had been horrifying. Although no one dared to make a move when the teacher was in the room, whenever they stepped outside the door the Slytherins (and some of the Gryffindors) were beastly. At one point in Transfiguration class the teasing got so bad Harry had to scream at the top of his voice to put everyone into submission. Not even Draco uttered a further peep.

Today, Professor Mills walked to the center of the maze and called for everyone to put away their books. Then she held up a finger—by this time everyone learned that it meant she wasn't going to dismiss everyone right away.

"All right, class. October is upon us. You know what that means. The fifth-years and above should be well-enough prepared to take the Pensieve test."

Everyone groaned, and Professor Mills smiled with cynical intention.

"Glad you're all looking forward to it. Actually, if you've noticed, the fifth-years are in the midst of taking theirs. I wonder if you've seen the scared faces of the fifth-year Hufflepuffs."

The students looked around as if she was a maniac. They did so often. She loved—and declared that in the most grueling of circumstances, was necessary—to joke upon the most macabre of subjects.

"We've gone over the proper technique of taking your wand and dispensing thoughts inside the Pensieve. We know how to safely drop inside it—and how to get back out," she added, winking at a blushing Neville. At one of their lessons Neville had finally succeeded at diving inside the Pensieve after five failed tries. However, once inside he was so elated he forgot the technique Professor Mills taught them to get back out, and she had to dive inside in order to get him back out.

"Since the fifth-years are nearly finished, I'll be starting with the sixth-years tomorrow. The classes over this period will not be conducted in the usual manner. Fears, of course, are a personal matter. I will be calling students alphabetically three at a time a day. I'll be finished drawing up the schedule tonight, and I'll be posting it upon my door tomorrow morning. Students who aren't reported to come to class will report to study hall," she instructed. "I suggest you all get a good night's sleep. Class dismissed."

Yet again everyone scrambled to pack up their belongings and leave. This time some people were acting as if they had forgotten their last name. Then they exchanged them with everyone else to see if they were going to be paired up.

"Apparently none of us are going to be able to do it together if it's alphabetical," mumbled Hermione, "and when all of us need support the most."

"At least none of us will do it with Malfoy," Ron sighed pleasantly. "And I'm one of the last to do it."

Harry said nothing. Ron glanced back at him worriedly.

"Still thinking about what your worst fear could be?" he asked quietly.

"Not only mine. Professor Mills was worried about you, me, and Malfoy. What makes this even scarier is that we don't know, but she does, and she doesn't want to tell us. I'm surprised she didn't group us all together and make us do the Pensieve test last…"

"I didn't want to single you out."

All three jumped at her voice. Professor Mills was standing behind them. They were the last ones in the classroom.

"And also, I don't have the strength to handle all three of you at the same time. Like I've said before, you all have terrifying anxieties."

"You won't even give us a clue?" Ron pleaded.

Mills giggled girlishly and folded her arms. "Don't expect help to simply come to you all the time. Whatever time calls for everyone in this wizarding world to swallow their pride and combat the Dark Lord's forces, there'll be one point in your life when some vicious Death Eater is trying to cast some godforsaken hex upon you. When that day comes, no one'll be whispering the right countercurse to cast in your ear. In some cases it could even be a simple charm. Just say 'Avis' before he moves and he'll be blinded by pigeons. Of course, as I've said, most adult wizards are advanced enough to perform non-verbal spells. But to get to the point, among other things my class should be teaching you self-reliance. What I _will_ say, however, is that yours is pretty much obvious, Mr. Potter doesn't even know, and Mr. Malfoy DOES know, but he won't admit it to himself. Now off with you."

…Over the next couple of days, Hogwarts was settled in a haze of uneasiness and tension. To briefly return to a point which should have been made in the beginning of our story, Harry had been appointed Quidditch Captain after Angelina Johnson's leave. Amid the turmoil of Ron's kidnapping, though, there wasn't much chance to celebrate. Even now that he could concentrate on his Quidditch duties, Harry was scarcely able to fit in one practice the first week of October. Everyone was too shaken up.

On the early afternoon of October eighth, Professor Mills' class ventured to the fourth floor once again to see the postings. It was so crowded; Hermione pushed her way through the crowd and towards the door. Harry and Ron hung back; they already knew they were going to be one of the last ones to perform the test.

Hermione came back to them. This time, her lower lip was jutting out slightly.

"You're up, aren't you?" Harry asked. She nodded slowly, and he put her hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "It won't be that bad, won't it? Who're you paired up with?"

"Umm…Seamus and Goyle."

"Fill us in on Goyle, will you?" Ron joked.

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation and walked away when the crowd had cleared out. Seamus had already opened the door and went in. Goyle looked at Draco with a confused look. Then Malfoy rolled his eyes and practically shoved him inside.

"Good luck," Harry called out. Hermione smiled weakly, then walked inside, the door closing behind her.

…The desks weren't in their usual spots. All the desks except one were pushed back against the two available walls. The one lone desk carried the dark-colored bowl. In it were the many thoughts of the woman standing beside the desk, as well as the fears of a handful of fifth-years. Goyle was standing off to the right. Without Malfoy and Crabbe, he looked so out-of-place. Seamus stood right in front of the bowl as if he wanted nothing more than to get this over and done with.

Professor Mills clapped her hands together and smiled brighter than she ever had. "Well, students, I don't have to tell you why we're gathered here. Now what I'll let you in on is that we're not following a strict schedule. By all means, if there's someone here who is brave enough to go first, step up."

Seamus at once obliged.

"Aren't you the valiant one, Mr. Finnegan? All right then. First, close your eyes and concentrate. You might not see or think of anything, but the fear will be extracted. Deposit it in the Pensieve and we'll be ready to go."

Seamus took out his wand and put the end to his temple. He squinted his eyes, trying his hardest to make the thought come out. After about a minute a glowing blue light was excreted from his head and latched on to his wand. Slowly he separated the wand from his temple and tapped it over the Pensieve. Like a feather, the strand of light wafted down until it merged with the mass of silvery light.

"Points for depositing technique and bravery, Mr. Finnegan," she commended. "You're doing well so far. Now on to the real challenge."

She grabbed on to his hand and nodded to him. Seamus looked back at Hermione.

"Wish me luck," he said. His fingers touched the surface, and in a flash, he and Professor Mills disappeared.

…_Even for someone as experienced as Professor Mills, the experience of 'diving', as she so called it, was a head rush. Taking that into account, Seamus felt twice as worse. It was almost like swimming inside a mirror. Like virtually everyone else at Hogwarts, he didn't know what his biggest fear was, either. His heart beat fast just to think of the prospect, and he hung on to his professor's hand._

_All in an instant, they landed hard on their feet. Seamus stumbled, then regained his stance after a moment. Professor Mills landed gracefully next to him. The smile was still on her face, but it was a smaller one. It took a while for the sandy-haired boy to recognize where he was. They had landed in a field…and it wasn't just any field. The sun had a weak shine; the sky was a pale blue, with big grayish-white cumulus clouds rolling over and making shadows in the grass. Far in the distance was a developed town with houses and buildings; nothing close to London but nowhere near as ramshackle as Hogsmeade. The wind was as nippy as it ever was._

_Then he noticed the graves._

_There were a lot of them, placed haphazardly in many different rows. They were standing in one of grassy aisles. Crosses, obelisks, grave markers, a few of them covered in a jumble of leaves and vines. The area was closed off by a stern, black-painted iron fence. Running straight through the middle of the graveyard was a beaten path. Walking upon it was a procession of black-clad people. A funeral was taking place. Seamus's heart dropped. His worst fear was death?_

_The smile was entirely gone now. Professor Mills nudged him and they began walking towards the procession. Before long they were able to hear catches of talk, although it was a bit muddled by all the sniffling. It was a well-defined group: not gigantic, but enough attendants to know the deceased was loved in life. But…these weren't his relatives. Seamus was confused. He glanced behind him to see where the line of mourners ended—and gasped. He ran to the back of the line to see if his vision wasn't playing a trick on him. _

_His eyes didn't lie. He was staring at himself. _

_This other Seamus was dressed in black and green, his lips quivering. His eyes were puffy and red, and his cheeks were soaked with tears. He didn't like the looks of this. Up ahead, the procession began to crowd around a fresh grave. The deep hole was sitting at the end of its assigned row, awaiting its coffin. At the head of it was a square marble gravestone adorned with an angel lying on its side. The remaining people filed around the grave and stood. Professor Mills sighed and moved right through the crowd—literally—in order to reach the hole._

"_You came a long way and went through a lot of trouble to come here. Don't you at least want to know whose funeral you're attending?" Professor Mills asked. "Remember the lessons. We can't interfere in the Pensieve; we're nothing but ghosts to these people."_

_Seamus shuddered. He wasn't sure if it had been appropriate for her to use the word 'ghosts' at a funeral. He was extremely scared at this point, but curiosity overtook him. He glided through bodies until he was standing near the coffin itself. It was made of a varnished light-colored wood._

"_Who—?"_

_Suddenly, he choked on his breath. Professor Mills shot him a concerned look, then looked in the direction he was. He had figured it out._

_Upon the grave marker was inscribed this message: "_Dean Thomas. Beloved Son and Friend._"_

"_This—this isn't…" Seamus blubbered._

"_It's your worst fear: losing Dean. Not just as a good friend, but as your true love," Professor Mills explained. "There's a few Muggles here, so the preacher delivering the sermon cannot tell them the truth of how he died. The truth is that his non-magical parentage brought him sorrow when the Death Eaters made their way over to Leeds. He was nothing to the Death Eaters. His parents died a few weeks before him."_

_She pointed to two graves beside the new hole with identical gravestones. The names of his parents were written upon them._

_Seamus felt sick. He sat down on the grass, his mind riddled with guilt and sorrow._

"_So, did I confront my fear?" he asked._

"_I'm afraid it's not that simple," she answered. "As I said, the only way one's thoughts can change inside the Pensieve is if the person who dives inside the thought is the sole owner of it. Concentrate again; you want all of this to disappear except for the coffin."_

_If it was all he had to do to keep from staring at that piece of stone with his boyfriend's name on it, Seamus was all too willing to close his eyes again. Gradually, the people faded out of sight. The fields and the sky disintegrated until everything faded to an ominous gray. All that was left was the coffin a few feet away from him._

"_This is always a risky thing to do, since we're at the mercy of your imagination now. This is unstable, so it's a timed test now. I'll give you a task to do in order for you to come to terms with your inner fear. If you choose to quit or fail to comply with the task given in a minute's time, we will be put back out of the Pensieve right away. Also, I want to make this very clear…if you do quit, I will not think any less of you. Fear and grief is natural, and especially since you're so young, you may not yet be prepared to face it. The point is to try. Whatever choice you make, I'll understand. But also be aware that if you do, we'll have no choice but to try this again at the end of the year. At least then you'll be better prepared."_

_He nodded._

"_In this altered reality, you were not able to see Dean before he died. This left you very distraught. Now only you can put yourself—and him—to rest. The task is to open the coffin and send him off with a kiss."_

_Seamus goggled at Professor Mills had sprouted three additional heads and sang a song in French._

"_What?"_

"_I thought you could handle this," she replied, more sass than playful sarcasm at this point. "Didn't you volunteer to go first?"_

_He bit his lip and said nothing else. That was true. He had put his foot in his mouth. There was nowhere else to go but forward._

_With tentative steps he walked to the coffin and paced around it until he found the latch which opened it up. Whoever said that imagination was a powerful tool didn't mince his words. He could actually touch the silver plating, feel its chill. Moist spots were forming on the latch; Seamus had frozen there, his sweating hand on the latch. Shutting his eyes and counting to three, his fingers practically worked by themselves unfastening the clutch._

_An intake of breath, and he swung it open._

_Seamus nearly went weak at the knees from the sight. In a bed of satin laid the boy's body, his arms folded in front of him. They had dressed him up in a handsome dark blue suit. With much difficulty he brought himself to look at his face. His eyes were closed; his lips had the slightest part in them. He looked so peaceful there. Here, he was free from worldly pain. _

_Out of nowhere, one last terrible thought struck him. Even if he was out of pain, if he had died that way, so quickly, the last thing Dean would have seen was a blinding green light. He had been alone at the time of his death…he hadn't been there to protect him. Did he even care if he had left Seamus alone?_

_His blue eyes spilled over with tears, and he crumbled to the ground._

"_I can't…I can't do it, Professor—"_

_The rest of the sentence was lost in a wave of uncontrollable sobbing. Seamus collapsed and laid still on the floor next to the open casket, shaking with every cry. Professor Mills nodded, staring up into space. Suddenly, the coffin disappeared along with everything else, and all became a spinning blur._

…A few minutes later at the Gryffindor Tower, Harry, Ron, and Dean were gathered in the common room. Study hall was pretty much optional, and they had no classes to go to at this hour. Dean in particular was looking over his Herbology notes, concerned about Seamus and his test.

The portrait door swung open. Seamus entered the common room, his eyes deathly bloodshot. It was nothing new for anybody to look over to see who entered the room, but everyone went crazy when they saw Seamus's puffy red face. Ron and Harry shut their books and flung them away, ready to do whatever it was that they could do to help, but he walked by without even noticing him. He didn't notice anyone who was gaping and/or whispering at his eyes or his messy hair. Dean put down his notes to see what the commotion was about, saw his boyfriend in such a terrible state, and stood up right away.

"Seamus! What'd Professor Mills do—?"

Dean was cut short by Seamus abruptly wrapping him in his arms and holding him close, silently sobbing. Dean blushed hotly; they hadn't yet reached the part of the relationship where they had told everybody else. Whatever his worst fear was must have been devastating. Excusing himself from the crowd, Dean escorted Seamus up to the dormitory.

(End Chap. 28)

(Everyone's now more or less sober, but now they're sobbing their butts off.)

Harry: That was terrible! Poor Seamus!

Lucius: That was cruel even for my tastes. Can the next chapter get any worse?

Me: (blows nose into a Kleenex) Curse my ingenious angst skills (as one of my reviewers was quoted as saying before)! And believe it or not, we've barely begun. We still have the three worst fears to g-g-go! (starts sobbing again) Like Lucius asked, CAN Chapter 29 get any worse? You'll just have to find out. Bring the tissues!


	29. Kill Or Be Killed

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: (holding a glass of champagne) Didn't I say you should have been prepared? I told you the Fear Series would be no joke. And try not to hate Professor Mills too much. She just wants to take 'em and shape 'em into wizards and witches fit enough to face down the evil Voldemort. But first, she has to scare them out of their wits. Anyway, why is everyone drinking alcohol despite the fact our blood alcohol levels are dangerously high already? We're saying cheers to all the readers who've loved and kept up with my story: WE'VE REACHED OUR 100TH REVIEW! (confetti showers down from a mysterious source) OCDdegrassi, thank YOU for being the hundredth. Just for that, this chappie's for you (and for Crimson, who asked for some Hermione-y goodness).

Lucius: Also, the drunken authoress would like to clarify something else. We're aware of the 'no-changing-destiny' rule in the Pensieve, but as owner of the Pensieve (and this being no normal Pensieve), Professor Mills has some liberty. In fact, this little prop will come to explain the whole rift between Mills and Snape.

Me: I am not drunk! (hiccup) Even if I were, you ever hear of 'Drunken Master'? I am one if my fic's this good!

Plushie: (hanging from the ceiling on wires and wearing all black trying to steal my glass) So here's to a hundred more reviews…hopefully. If Kim-chan can keep the story interesting, that is. That Professor Mills is a pistol. If Seamus was scared stiff, think of what'll happen to a wuss like Neville. (Everyone goes quiet.)

Me: Uh…well, let's not dwell on that thought! This chapter we'll be dealing with Harry's gal pal…and let me just say her worst fear isn't failing a class. (cuts wires and Plushie falls down) If you want a glass, then just say so, dammit! (hands him a goblet of Courvoisier)

Plushie: Yay! (runs off with it) Rolling! (jumps on remote button)

(Begin Chap. 29)

…To temporarily direct our story to another main event, on the morning of the day when Hermione, Seamus, and Gregory Goyle were marked to take Professor Mills' test, Ron had received a response from Lucius. It had been a week of waiting and fighting personal battles and wondering if the Ministry had intercepted the letter and was coming to Hogwarts to interrogate him. Nothing of the sort happened, but the large eagle-owl which usually delivered Malfoy's packages of chocolates landing by Ron's plate brought up much suspicion.

"What is that?" Hermione screeched, scooting back along with Harry. The eagle-owl indeed looked very menacing.

"Mr. Malfoy's…owl," Ron answered hesitantly, a bit spooked himself. He never handled an eagle-owl before, much less the Malfoys' eagle-owl. As it turned out, it was very well-behaved. It stuck out its right leg and waited for Ron to untie the note, then flew off to the Slytherin Table without even waiting for a snack of some kind. What Ron didn't fail to notice was that he held a smoking Howler on the other leg…

"What's Mr. Malfoy doing sending you letters?" Harry demanded.

"Can I get mail without getting the bloody Third Degree?" Ron snapped back. Harry scowled, but he backed off, not wanting to reopen old wounds. The letter seemed to be a lengthy one; it was folded threefold. But no sooner had Ron unfolded the first crease than a shrieking wind blew across the Great Hall. For the first time in what seemed like ages, Ron heard Mr. Malfoy's voice again. However, it was the angriest voice he had ever heard. The old instincts coming back, Ron actually dove under the table. Everyone else was staring at a cowering Draco as he felt the full wrath of his father.

"_WHAT BUSINESS DID YOU HAVE SPREADING SUCH SLANDER ABOUT ME AND WEASLEY ALL OVER HOGWARTS? YOU CAN ONLY THANK YOURSELF I HAVE MORE IMPORTANT MATTERS TO ATTEND TO, OR I WOULD HAVE COME THERE TO TAKE CARE OF YOU MYSELF! MY ASSOCIATION WITH WEASLEY IS NONE OF YOUR CONCERN! LET ME HEAR FROM HIM YOU'VE BEEN TELLING FALSE STORIES AGAN AND SO HELP ME I WILL SEND YOU OFF TO DURMSTRANG BEFORE YOU CAN TAKE ANOTHER BREATH!_"

The letter abruptly caught fire, and the cinders fell onto Draco's plate. After the initial shock wore off, a noise was heard that was golden to the Gryffindors' ears: the entire Slytherin Table laughing at Draco's expense.

"…What was that all about?" Harry asked, not even trying to suppress his broad grin.

"I think Mr. Malfoy just saved my arse."

Ron's eyes took an once-over at the Gryffindor Table. A handful of them felt guilty, but others looked even more confused than ever. What should they take more notice of: Mr. Malfoy displacing the rumors or Mr. Malfoy sticking up for him?

Taking advantage of the confusion, Ron finished unfolding the note and proceeded to read it.

_Ron,_

_Grieved to say, but there is only so much I can do. I _have_, however, sent a Howler addressed to Draco along with this owl. That should put him in his place._

_As you have so diligently guessed my hands were (and still are) full with the Ministry, which explains the delay of this letter. They've cleared me of the counts of murder, but now I am preoccupied with rewriting my will and legalizing the conditions. I will confide this in you, Ron, and no one else: Narcissa's death has left me feeling much inner conflict. Exactly what she did to get herself killed was all on her own; even Bellatrix (my half-sister), helping her up until then, realized she had began to scheme something. _

_I feel some anger that I had not been notified before they went along and killed my wife, but certainly sadness isn't what I feel. I've told you what I felt about Narcissa countless times before. I hope you won't think of me as a bad person, or at the very least don't think that I'm more of a terrible person than you already believe me to be. Can you really force yourself to mourn someone who made your life so miserable?_

_You wanted me to explain why I decided to make you an heir, and I will...or at least, I will attempt to explain. To be honest, I cannot even explain my own actions. A servant you were, but I made you an heir in the hopes that our relationship might develop to the point where you would have been an heir naturally if this had happened much later in time. Now I wonder if it was simply wishful thinking. In a way, we both betrayed our vows. _

_On the other hand I will not tell you my motives behind wanting to see you again. I'll leave it up to you to discover; I don't care to waste my time arguing my case. I've done enough arguing with the Ministry already, and Cornelius still doesn't fully believe me._

_I know it will be painful for you, but taking precedent as your former master, I order you to not send any more letters. I am sure that after Draco opens his Howler, no one will question your authority any longer. But also, it will be entertaining for me to see you crawl to my doorstep in December with pent-up frustration, yearning for the same affection you once repulsed. It is, shall we say, a bad person's greatest joy._

_Lucius._

The last two sentences were meant to be taken as a joke, and Ron knew it. He grimaced at Lucius' twisted sense of humor and slipped the letter in his pocket. Since then he had been rereading it constantly, trying to decipher what he meant by saying, "…I made you an heir in the hopes that our relationship might develop to the point where you would've been an heir naturally".

A natural heir?

…But now let us leave that mystery a mystery for the moment.

We are back at the present moment, and now it was just Hermione in Professor Mills' room. After she and Seamus dropped back out of the Pensieve, Professor Mills took a moment to counsel him. It looked like he felt better after their talk, but he still walked out of the classroom in low spirits. Goyle was next then. It took quite a while for him to extract his fear, but once he did they dove inside, leaving Hermione by herself for a while. She paced for a while, then sat down in one of the chairs, then finally settled on reading one of her textbooks.

Over ten minutes passed before Goyle finally resurfaced. Hermione hadn't expected him to come out crying, and he wasn't. However, his face was as white as a sheet. Professor Mills bent down to whisper to him, patted him on the shoulder and sent him on his way.

Now it was down to Hermione. Professor Mills turned to her with that same sun-blinding smile.

"I guess that just leaves you and me, Miss Granger. Are you ready?"

Hermione nodded, hastily shutting the book and putting it in her backpack.

"You know, Miss Granger, no one's passed the test thus far. Maybe you'll be the first."

Professor Mills stood by as Hermione extracted her thought and dropped it inside the obsidian bowl. She took one big breath, clutched the teacher's hand, and plunged her arm into the liquid.

…_As one would have expected from a studious witch like her, Hermione landed just as gracefully as Professor Mills. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the change in lighting—everything had turned dark while they'd been spinning out of control. She shook her head and took a moment to drink in their surroundings. In the first place, they seemed very familiar…and they were. They were standing in the yard of her house outside London. It was the hour just after sunset, a calm kind of darkness. _

_The word 'calm', however, didn't come close to either what happened or how Hermione felt as the events in the Pensieve began to unfold._

_Four black-clad, hooded strangers suddenly Apparated at the corner of the street. Hermione jumped back when she recognized that they weren't just any hooded strangers. These were Death Eaters, one of them being Voldemort himself. One of them—the shortest one—wasn't exactly attired in Death Eater regalia. He was wearing a simple cloak to hide his face. One of the other two stared up in distaste at the street lamp that was shedding light upon them. He took out his wand and cast a spell to put it out along with all the rest along the sidewalk. Once that was done, the formal Death Eater at the far left called over the short one and pointed at one of the house—Hermione's house. The short person nodded, and they began walking._

"_Oh no," Hermione mumbled. She had an urge to run into the house and warn her parents, then she remembered that none of this was true, and even if it had been they were in a Pensieve. They couldn't change the thoughts. All she could do was stand back and wait._

_The Death Eaters finally advanced upon the front door. Voldemort swept out a hand, and his three followers stepped behind him. He drew out his wand and blasted the door down with a bright red light. Hermione couldn't take it anymore. She left Professor Mills' side to see for herself what was happening._

_It felt horrific, moving through Voldemort's body like air. But she had to in order to reach the foot of the stairs. Footsteps barreling downstairs, then she was face to face with her parents. Poor them; it looked as if they didn't know whether to be frightened or confused. As if they didn't know enough about the magical world already, now they were looking the strongest Dark wizard in the face._

_Without a moment's hesitation, the taller Death Eater waved his wand, but at the last second the memory image of Hermione came from behind them and pulled her parents away. Voldemort let out a vicious, high-pitched hiss and ordered his followers to search for them. Hermione went upstairs as well. The Death Eater who hadn't done anything as of yet now walked up to her parents' bedroom door and pulled back his sleeve to reveal a silvery hand. He touched the doorknob and crushed it to dust, then smacked it open. Wormtail._

_The other Hermione was waiting at the other end of the door with her own wand. Most likely she was thinking exactly what the spectator was thinking: she could use magic outside Hogwarts if their lives were in mortal peril._

_She didn't get a chance to, though. The taller Death Eater pushed past Wormtail while waving his wand in a zigzag pattern. That was an odd split second: one moment she looked at the gleaming, silver snake-head decorating the end of the wand and identified him as Lucius Malfoy; the next moment Hermione saw herself fly across the room and hit the bed, knocked out. Her father, who had been crouched near the closet with her mother, got up to try and help her, but that was a fatal mistake. Voldemort entered the room, eyes slit, and her vision was temporarily impaired by two flashes of a sickening green light…_

_The real Hermione was left breathless. Her eyes began to water. She didn't know what to say. She just saw her parents die at the hands of the Dark Lord. It made her think of the risks she was taking with Harry—would it be at the cost of this? And what of her other self?_

_Lucius turned to the cloaked one and gave a signaling nod. The short one stepped over and stood over her as the image Hermione regained consciousness. _

_Just then Professor Mills walked calmly into the bedroom as if she had simply walked in on a pleasant conversation over tea._

"_The time has come to alter your thought, Miss Granger. We're commencing the final part of the exam. Bring your focus to that young stranger there," she instructed. Hermione closed her eyes and waited until the area inside the Pensieve became dark. When she opened her eyes again, the cloaked person was standing quite a distance away. The newfound darkness didn't make it any easier for her to guess his face. _

"_He's going to make a move on you. Unlike what you were just experiencing, in this altered state you feel anything which happens to you. I know I'm asking too much of you, but this is very important. I know your class has been taught the Unforgivable Curses, but have you actually learned to cast one?"_

_Hermione shook her head. "Professor Moody showed us them in our fourth year. He was... unusual …but even he wouldn't do that! All we learned was to resist the Cruciatus."_

_Professor Mills shook her head. "I hate to disagree with Mr. Moody's—or should I say Crouch Jr.'s techniques, but it's not enough to see them—or to feel the Cruciatus. I do agree that the other two you won't so much use as defend yourself against…but the last one…In these dangerous times, you have to be ready to kill as well as defend. The Ministry may not say so, but since when has the Ministry taken up for our cause lately? Death Eaters have already thrown away their lives to serve the Dark Lord; why deny them that right? Remember this always, Miss Granger: once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater."_

_Hermione was thoroughly confused at this point, and this 'pep talk' wasn't helping to ease her fears. She had never heard Professor Mills talk so cruelly…so seriously. She was well aware of the evils of the Death Eaters, but what personal wrong had they done her?_

_Before she could begin to speculate, the next sentence threw Hermione in a total state of shock. _

"_What I want you to do is cast the Avada Kedavra curse. It's relatively easy to perform; don't let anyone tell you otherwise. It's very similar to the Patronus Charm, but with one crucial distinction," Professor Mills said sternly. "Instead of applying your focus on the happiest moment of your life, you must immerse yourself in fear, sadness, and rage. While a Patronus draws from happiness, Avada Kedavra draws from your despair. Hate your enemy; build it all up within you. It may help you if you know exactly what your target is."_

_She pointed to the hooded person, who promptly clutched the hood with his hands and removed it._

_Hermione gasped, nearly fainting. She remembered Pettigrew, Malfoy…but she knew him most of all. _

_Never in her life would she imagine Ron Weasley to join the ranks of the Death Eaters…or would she?_

"_Your fear stems from your current suspicions. Not only do you fear Lucius Malfoy seducing him into Voldemort's ranks, but it would be the most horrible thing to die at his hands. Your test is to strike first before he does," Mills instructed. _

_Hermione's eyes widened. Did she just hear what she thought she heard…?_

"_Yes you did hear right. If this does become the unchanging reality, you will have to ask yourself an impossible question. Do you kill, Miss Granger, or be killed?"_

…The night's curfew was about to be initiated, yet neither Ron nor Harry had heard from Hermione the rest of the day, not even at study hall. One by one, the upper-year students of Hogwarts were acting as if they had come face-to-face with a Death Eater themselves. Seamus had recovered a little from his scare, but not by much. He was no longer the same, sprightly, flamboyant Irish boy he once was—and everyone hoped he would be again soon. Crabbe and Goyle appeared to be much less menacing than before, leaving Draco to fend for himself. When they attended the rest of their classes, they could hear the teachers 'tsk'-ing in disappointment. The students could tell they were thinking either one of two things: the possibility that Mills was worse than Umbridge, or simply that Dumbledore might have made a bad decision—again.

Whatever the circumstances were, Harry decided to wait up for Hermione a while longer, but not before he pulled off an extremely risky mission.

Just three minutes earlier Harry had been lying on his bed in the dormitory, watching and waiting for Ron to go to the bathroom. He always went to the bathroom before he slept, like clockwork. As the door closed, Harry decided to make his move.

"I'm going down to wait on Hermione."

"She still isn't back yet?" Ron asked incredulously through the crack in the door. Harry shook her head. "Whatever happened must've given her a real nasty fright…I really don't want to do this test anymore, Harry."

"We all agreed to do it and get it out of the way, pass or fail. You said yourself, either that or a written test."

"But…everybody's acting weird, like somebody important died or something. You saw Seamus that day. He's always the happy one, he is, and look what happened! Professor Mills says she wants to make us stronger, but everyone'll be bloody petrified before we even get the chance." Ron exhaled derisively and shut the door. "Wait for her if you want. I'm tucking in."

There were no witnesses, unless he counted Neville, who was sitting at the edge of his bed, facing the other way. Time to make his move. He slowly moved up from his mattress and tiptoed towards Ron's bed. He saw him read that note just a few minutes ago. There was only one place he had time to stash that thing. Harry thrust his arm under the pillow and moved his fingers around. The rustle of paper…yes! Quickly pushing it into the pocket of his trousers, he opened the door and went to rest on top of the scarlet couch.

The fire in the hearth was still lit. Leaning closer towards the reddish-orange glow, Harry could make out the scribbles of ink which compiled into the older Malfoy's handwriting. He read it closely…very closely.

" 'Grieved to say, but there is only so much I can do'…so he knew about the Howler?"

He read further, his doubts about his friend growing by the minute. A mentioning of relationships, him 'confiding' in Ron about Narcissa's death…but it still didn't answer the many questions swimming around his head…

Then all too sudden he saw the last sentence.

"The same affection he once repulsed?" Harry whispered to himself. "So there is something between them…"

"And I'd bloody well appreciate it you stayed out of it."

(End Chap. 29)

Me: And the beat goes on. Will Harry be shocked? Will Hermione read that letter as well? Who was it behind Harry? What will become of the friendship between them?

Lucius: I thought I told you to cease that bothersome commentary.

Harry: This might as well be a soap opera. I can just see myself looking away from Ron with a sexy, aloof, confused look on my face.

Plushie: (in a sexy, breathy voice) Tune in next time to 'As the World Turns'…oh! Wait. Tune in next time to 'Black and Deep Desires'.


	30. Goodbye, Draco Malfoy

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: (claps her hands, and the muses gather around…eventually. Lucius always takes his good sweet time) Glad you all could make it. Still scouring the World Wide Web for places to archive (and in the process of setting up an FF.N forum for this story and its followers and/or Lucius/Ron supporters in general). The difficulty of doing it is that all my documents are specially made for author's notes and all. It'd be a pain to write them over again. Anyway, expect updates to come slow over the next week; I got midterms coming up…but then again, I'll be exempt from most of them. Yaysies!

Draco: What, is that your new word now?

Me: I wouldn't give any sass if I were you. We gave them Seamus as the appetizer; we gave them an insight into Hermione just to be fair. Since this is going alphabetically, which of the "Three Big Fears" you think we're doing first? (sings) H, I, J, K, L, _M_…Ron! (I snap fingers and Draco starts to sweat) Actually, you should be proud you're kicking off the 30th chapter. It worked out perfectly. Just twenty more, guys, just twenty more!

(Ron hands over the satin-lined box with the spotless silver remote in it. I grab a rubber glove and take it.)

Me: All right, then. Draco's darkest fears, here we go! (clicks silver remote)

(Begin Chap. 30)

…"And I'd bloody well appreciate it if you stayed out of it."

Harry turned around to see exactly the person whom he didn't want to see right now. Ron was standing there, his baggy pajamas clinging to his skin, a perplexing expression on his face. The shadows cast by the firelight added a sort of gruesome, supernatural feature to it. The only word one could have possibly used to describe Ron's emotions at this point was 'aghast'. It was the only possible way he could have felt. Revealing as it was, it was still a personal thing of his. No one just stole a personal note from someone's belongings.

But Harry was angry, too. What had his friends been doing lately? Weren't they supposed to be helping him? Hermione had been no help at the House of Black and had now disappeared to sulk by herself (but by the way these tests were going, it was more likely Professor Mills' fault than anything), and whatever this unholy alliance between Ron and Lucius was, it was extremely dangerous.

"It's impossible to 'stay out of it' if my friend's getting involved with a Death Eater," he snapped back, waving the now-crumpled letter in front of his face. Ron stomped over and snatched back the note from his hands.

"I'm not involved with Lucius, and you shouldn't have taken my note!"

"For not being involved, you're certainly taking advantage of calling him by his first name! I thought you _hated_ the Malfoys!"

"Draco's a bloody pest. With Lucius—it's…it's different."

"It's different? Fine; tell me _why_ it's different. And what's all this about 'the affection you once repulsed'?"

"It happened three months ago. It doesn't matter anymore," Ron said offhandedly.

How long would it be before he stopped denying? Were all the rumors really stepped in fact? Infuriated, Harry leaped off the couch and stepped up to within an inch of Ron's face.

"Like hell it doesn't matter anymore! He wants to make you an heir to his estate right after his wife dies, he sends you letters talking about the personal things that happened between you two…and apparently, you both promised each other you'd meet each other again in December." In desperation Harry grabbed him by the sides of his arms. "You lied when you came back, you lied on the train, and you lied to me—_in my face_—at the Owlery! When are you going to stop lying! Don't you know you're putting everyone in serious trouble? I won't ask again: _what's going on between you and Mr. Malfoy!_"

At the most inopportune time, the portrait door swung open slowly. To both boys' relief Hermione walked in, her bookbag slung haphazardly across her shoulder. She didn't seem particularly happy, yet she hadn't arrived in hideous despondency either. She stared up at the both of them and smiled weakly, but Harry didn't make an attempt to return the favor. With no other concern he pointed a condemning finger in Ron's face.

"He's siding with Voldemort!"

"I am _not_ siding with You-Know-Who!"

Without a word, Hermione walked up to the two boys. She had spotted the note in Ron's hands when she walked in; it must have been the heart of this argument. But before she could ask about it Ron stepped back from the both of them and stormed back up to the dormitory, slamming the door behind him.

"What was that about?" she asked.

"He's stabbing us in the back. You were right, Hermione. Something's wrong."

She sighed and walked over to the couch where Harry once sat a minute ago. She slipped off her bookbag and laid on the cushions as casually as she pleased—but not before smoothing over her pleated skirt self-consciously.

"Was the note his?"

"Yes. It was the letter Mr. Malfoy sent him today."

"…He showed you the letter?" she guessed.

"He didn't have to show me anything. I took it from under his pillow—"

Hermione shot straight up, curly strands of brown hair jumping across her forehead.

"Harry, you _didn't_!" she reprimanded harshly. Harry rolled his eyes and started walking up the stairs, but Hermione got up and ran to the foot of the stairs and called after him.

"Don't go thinking you're the only one who's upset about this, Harry! My worst fear—it turned out to be Ron as a Death Eater! He…he tried to kill me…"

Harry stopped and stared back at her glistening brown eyes, then finally took a moment to calm down. He didn't have to ask to realize that even Hermione had failed her test. She was like a fountain of tranquility from which they both could drink when their tempers ran high. It wasn't just her intelligence that was valuable. All this considered, that was why he had to discover what Ron was up to. If Ron did sway to the dark side…He looked back at Hermione one more time, the faint red glow of the fireplace illuminating the resolute spark in his green eyes.

"That's exactly why we need to be careful: so that what you saw doesn't actually happen. I lost too many people close to me, and I'll be damned if I lose the two of you."

…October tenth.

Harry and Ron made again what was now becoming a daily trip to the Defense Against the Dark Arts class on the fourth floor…of course, they went separately this time. The two hadn't talked to each other since the eighth. Since Hermione already took her turn, they were keeping their eye on the list even more than ever. Also, they, along with most of the rest of the class, made the trip just to see whose turn was it on that day. It really shouldn't have been, but it became a spot of entertainment for everyone.

Today everyone got their money's worth.

"Wonderful!" Draco yelled as he walked through the crowd. "I have to spend the morning with that loony bird!"

He had been addressing Crabbe and Goyle, but he stared past them at Harry. He was probably thinking the same thing Harry did in that split second. He was the first of the three Professor Mills had to confront. As the crowd began to disperse, the only other ones left standing were the other two students chalked up for that day: fellow sixth-year and Hufflepuff Ernie Macmillan and Neville Longbottom. Neville sighed in despair; out of all the people he had to be paired up with, he had to be with Malfoy. Draco was thinking the exact same as well.

"Longbottom and MacMillan..." Draco rattled on, but then left his insult unfinished as he swung open the door and walked into the classroom, Ernie going in second, and Neville hesitantly entering last.

…Approximately twenty minutes, one white-faced Ernie Macmillan, and a passed-out Neville Longbottom later, it was finally time for Draco to meet with his own deepest nightmares. When she returned from accompanying Neville to the hospital ward, Professor Mills closed the door and wiped her hands as if she had completed a grueling yet rewarding task. Draco could only stand there, trying to calm the quaking in his stomach. He hadn't given it much attention since that day, but why did she busy herself worrying about him and two of his least favorite people?

"You can turn back any time. After this, you may never be the same," she said.

"No offense, Professor, but you're the one who wanted us to 'deal with our inner fears'," Draco jeered. "If it's just a little nightmare, I won't have a problem."

"And with that shallow attitude you'll only be accompanying Mr. Longbottom," Professor Mills retorted, actually catching him off-guard. To date she was the only teacher in Hogwarts that could do so. "Your two little friends are blockheads, but this test made even them lose their nerve. What makes you think you have a chance?" She sighed, then stole his trademark smirk.

"But if you're really that resolved to not make a second trip to the hospital ward, then I hope you keep your word. Thought in the Pensieve, Mr. Malfoy."

..._And they were tumbling through obscure shadows soon enough. _

_This was unlike anything either of them had experienced before. In Professor Mills' case, nothing as of yet was supposed to happen during the process of diving; now the smallest echoes of a tortured scream were getting louder and retreating back even before they had landed. Thinking upon that alone, Draco had the eerie premonition he shouldn't have boasted like he did. The sensation of falling through nothingness wasn't helping whatsoever. The sheer insanity, the sheer gruesomeness of the situation was the sole motivation of keeping the grip on Professor Mills' hand._

_After a long while their feet hit solid ground, and the vision instantly materialized before their eyes. Wherever they were, it remained dark nevertheless._

_The scream sounded again, and things became fully clear. It was…this place was his home. The Malfoy Manor. To be exact they were standing in the grand foyer. But how could this be his home? Nearly all the candles had been put out, it was so nightmarish, so…_

_Again it sounded. Leaving his professor behind, Draco ran up the main stairs. He knew for certain the screaming sounded familiar, and now he was hearing a different, yet still familiar voice along with it. His brief quest came to an end right in front of his door. Should he…?_

_He opened the door._

_And promptly fell to his knees._

_It sounded a bit strange, but Draco had never taken the time to hear himself scream; otherwise he would've known it was himself. But the awkwardness of coming face-to-face with himself wasn't the issue. It was the two pools of blood gradually spreading on either side of his body._

_He was lying on his bed in bloodstained sheets, his face far below its marginally healthy paleness, his outstretched mouth expressing every second of pain he was feeling. Over the wretched victim stood Peter Pettigrew, whom was clutching the handle of a rusty dagger and grinning madly. The blade itself...over a third of its sharp, ragged edge had burrowed into the blonde boy's pale abdomen. Rivers of scarlet were escaping the wound, either seeping into his shirt or running over to meet the bed sheet cloth. But no; this wasn't nearly enough to make what Draco was witnessing heinous enough. His father stood at the foot of the bed, his face showing nothing but the contempt Malfoys had always given half-bloods._

"_It was quite foolish of you, really. Have you honesty come as low as to cross me, cross us, and the Dark Lord?" Lucius asked cynically. "If you give it thought, performing the Killing Curse is the greatest form of mercy any Death Eater bestows upon his victim. It is a quick death…and you're not even worthy of that."_

_He nodded to Wormtail, who plunged the dagger deeper, forcing the other Draco to erupt into another head-splitting shriek. The blood was pouring out considerably faster._

"_I requested that I did this unhappy task myself so that Voldemort would not have to waste his time with you. I gave you life; it was only fitting that I delivered your death. I can tell you this, at least, in your final moments of life. You can relish in the fact that Voldemort has done away with him only moments before. You can have the joy of accompanying him—him and your worthless mother!"_

_With a final twist of the blade, it went so deep the top of the handle grazed the skin. One final scream, and the body on the bed was stiff. Behind them, the real Draco leaned his head on the doorframe. His blue eyes were completely dilated, his breath hoarse. He could barely see anything anymore. The world seemed to be composed of his watery tears._

_Then the final blow was delivered to his sanity._

_Soft footsteps were heard behind him, and then someone walked through him…someone…_

_Ron._

_He walked up to Lucius, and then took a glance at Draco's lifeless corpse._

"_You actually went through and killed him?" Ron asked quietly. "I…I don't know…whether to be sad or not. I mean, he was your son, after all."_

_Lucius released one hand from his cane and made him shift closer to him. In a frightening paradox, the blond man became a loving figure. He laid down his cane entirely and used his other hand to run his hand through the redhead's soft hair. The disgust left his face, leaving only a solemn affection._

"_Whatever regret you feel, forget it. He could have hid it as hard as he tried, but we both knew Draco despised both you and our union. He was a gross hypocrite: hating a half-blood, only to harbor love for another."_

"_And don't you love me?"_

_Lucius chuckled. "You arrived—quietly, willingly, and intelligently—to our side. You made the right choice without even having to think about it. He, on the other hand, betrayed us. You gave Granger and Potter to us, which is something remarkable in itself, and now we have won this war. I don't see any reason the Dark Lord would oppose us." The hand that was in his hair now drifted downward to Ron's left hand. On the middle finger was a ring, a 24-karat ruby sitting in the middle of it. It leered at the real Draco like an evil red eye. He knew its significance._

_Ron looked back up at the body, a crease forming at the corner of his mouth._

"_Well, I _do _feel one regret. Harry and Hermione won't be able to be there; it's supposed to be the happiest moment of my life, too." He frowned. "They probably wouldn't have wanted to be there, anyway."_

_Lucius held him closer. "It will be. You don't need any concerns."_

"_I told you this wasn't for the weak. Such a gruesome way to die," a whisper commented behind him. Draco inclined his head to see the violet-haired professor stand behind him._

"_Pull yourself together, Mr. Malfoy. This will be over soon enough. Let the final part of the test commence..."_

(End Chap. 30)

Draco: (on the floor in the fetal position, whimpering)

Ron: Holy crap!

Lucius: Isn't that something?

Harry: Um…

Me: What a way to start, huh?

Ron: What do you mean, "what a way to start"? I lied to my friends in real life, killed my friends in the Pensieve, and Draco's frickin' traumatized! Look at him!

Me: Professor Mills was right: this wasn't for the weak. Do you dare to read the remaining two? Until Chapter 31!


	31. Accept It, Harry Potter

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: Sorry for the delay. Apparently Muse!Draco won't be joining us for a while due to him recently being institutionalized at St. Mungo's. Some days of good (and I mean REALLY good) and intense counseling and he'll be good as new. Anyway, you might have noticed I left out the part of the actual test in Draco's Pensieve sequence (thank you for yelling at me, Crimson). It was a symbolic gesture, actually—

Plushie: Since these are very complex fears we're dealing with, like Professor Mills said, it won't just be enough for her to hand them a task to do. It may be mentioned in the next chapter, but if you pay attention very closely, then throughout the story you'll see whether Ron, Harry, and Draco faced their fears or not.

Me: (gapes in horror) You're actually helping me with the commentary?

Plushie: That's just how skunk-drunk I am! Isn't it WILD! (passes out)

Lucius: So who will be driven to madness next?

Me: Lessee… (checks list) Ah! Our own favorite raven-haired, green-eyes-like-a-fresh-pickled-toad, death-defying, incredibly handsome, star-of-his-own-book-series, Boy-Who-Lived-Multiple-Times…Harry Potter himself! (six hundred miles away in a hospital bed, Draco gasps along with everyone else) What's the thing most in the world that our favorite hero is afraid of? And let me tell you, it wasn't easy. He's faced almost everything under the sun; that's why the chapter's late. So let's find out now, shall we? Rolling! (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 31)

…As disciplined as he was, Blaise Zabini never saw the use of attending study hall.

That afternoon, like any other afternoon, he was lying on his mattress going over his Astronomy homework, with the green gauze curtains slightly drawn. Suddenly, he turned his head towards the window, pondering the fresh October air going to waste. He sighed and got up to crack the window on the other side of the dormitory, but he wasn't able to complete the trip before the door swung open with a terrible wrath. Draco was standing on the other side. This was the worst Blaise had ever seen him, even surpassing the evening he had his nightmare. Without a word Draco crossed the room and collapsed on his own bed.

At least, he didn't say anything for two seconds.

"_That bloody madwoman! Is that her idea of an exam! IS it? 'Simple test' my arse! She's a damned poor psychopathic excuse for a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher; worse than all the other idiots Dumbledore hired!_" he screamed hoarsely."_I hate her, I hate her! I swear on everything I will tell my father about her—never mind! What's the use? He isn't a school governor anymore, and he's pissed at me!_"

Whatever he had been planning to say afterwards, if he was, it was wasted in tears and frantic gasps of breath. Blaise stopped and walked over to comfort him—it was the least he could do. The bitterness he had felt about Draco before, when he had humiliated Ron, was gone now. He had gotten his retribution long ago.

However, Blaise hadn't taken three steps before Draco glared up at him.

"I want _your_ help least of all," he hissed.

"What did I do?" Blaise protested.

"My fear had something to do with my father and Weasley. In the Pensieve, I had been killed by Father because I double-crossed him. I didn't know what for at first—then I found out why. I had fallen in love with Potter—as if I ever would. What I had to do to face my fear was to make a choice. I had a choice to save myself and Potter. I was looking him dead in the face, and he told me that we had a chance to escape together. Either that or I went ahead and faced my father first. When I refused, he asked if I loved him."

"And did you say anything?"

"_What did you think?_" Draco yelled, slowly working himself into a rage again. "Of course I didn't! And to make it more embarrassing, I remembered what you told me, and I made Potter change into you! Professor Mills said she never saw 'a more cowardly approach to one's fear'."

He looked at Blaise again. "I could've lied, of course, and got her off my back, but…I don't know. It felt too weird."

A pause.

"You're a bloody fool, you know that? The Pensieve test just made it more obvious: if I say anything to Potter, it'll only mean certain death. I already fed him the Elixir, anyway. It'll only be a matter of time."

At this he wiped away his tears and broke into the smallest of grins. "I see he already hates Weasley. Maybe that Mudblood Granger will be next—"

"No wonder you failed."

The tone of sheer disgust in Blaise's voice immediately stopped Draco's tears.

"All you do is run away, and when you're not running away you're making fun of people to make up for your own faults. You know this whole mess started when you first met Potter. I know it'll be dangerous, but settling this is more important. Can you just get over your pride for once and stop being such a tramp!"

Then Draco's hand took over his mind as he slapped Blaise right across the face.

…October twelfth.

This day could very well be lost to history, and if it is, it'll be a shame.

Today the morning sun shone upon three major events that manifested within the walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. These three events alone would set in motion others which would forever change the destinies of Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Blaise Zabini, and—indirectly—Lucius Malfoy, Peter Pettigrew, Hermione Granger, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix, including the Weasley family. Whether anyone knew it or not, the students were in the midst of the turning point of the entire war.

The first event: Blaise and Draco were officially at odds with each other.

The second: The event above forced Blaise to resort to the most drastic measures…not that he minded, considering the target. But really, did he have to sink so low as to seduce someone?

The third: Today was the day Harry had to take the Pensieve test.

Although the trio was out of sorts with each other, Ron and Hermione were there to witness his blanched face when he walked up to look at the schedule in front of the door. His fellow students for that day were Parvati Patil and Dean Thomas. For the record, Dean had been waiting for this day. He wanted to know exactly why Seamus had become so depressed. His dark brown eyes sparking with fury, he slammed open the door and marched in as soon as he saw his name written under the day's date. Momentarily throwing him a puzzled look, Parvati turned and talked to her sister for a moment longer before she went in after him. Padma had taken the test the day before, so she guessed it wouldn't hurt to know what it would be like. However, from seeing her disappointed frown it didn't seem like Padma was able to give her consolation.

"I'm guessing Dean wants revenge after what happened with Seamus," Hermione said offhandedly, although she didn't have to guess. The boy had been swearing it up and down for four days. Then her eyes focused on the boy standing in front of her. "I'm sure it'll turn out fine, Harry. You've gotten through much worse than this."

"Good luck, mate."

Both Hermione's and Harry's heads snapped up at the unexpected comment from Ron. He wore a shy half-grin, as if he wanted to make amends…and he did. Today marked their fourth day of not talking to each other, but this Defense Against the Dark Arts test was making strange bedfellows out of everyone. As Hermione had said two weeks ago, they needed all the encouragement they could get. Ron figured the least he could do was say something, lest we forget the mistake he made in their fourth year.

Still, Harry couldn't bring himself to do anything more than grimace, mutter a weak thanks and walk away. Ron frowned as the door closed and turned to Hermione.

"Git," he muttered under his breath. "You don't believe him, do you?"

Hermione adopted a look of surprise. "Believe who about what?"

"Harry. About…well…" Ron stammered.

"Oh, that. To be honest, I don't know who to believe. I'm not saying I don't trust you—I will admit Harry's been out of sorts lately. On the other hand, though, you've been hiding things too. I know the note was private, but there's something else bothering you," she conceded. "The only thing I'll agree with him on is this: certainly _something_ happened over the summer. If you're embarrassed to talk about it, don't be. If you don't want to tell Harry, fine, but at least tell me."

Ron sighed. Now he _really _didn't have a choice. Harry's continuous interrogations were a pain, yet how could he deny Hermione's sincere request?

As the two departed to find a place of solitude to finally discuss the once-forbidden subject, Blaise stared at their retreating backs—more specifically Ron's. Even when he was unintentionally isolating himself from his friends, he kept them close. They didn't know him personally, but just the simple fact that he was a Slytherin would probably faze him. He had to take this slowly, step by step…

…"_Professor Mills…"_

"_Yes, Mr. Potter?"_

"_I was—"_

"_Isn't it a bit late to ask? You'll find out as soon as we get out of this darkness…I've been doing this so many times, I don't even get stomach sickness anymore," she said. She looked below at what appeared to be an endless abyss. Harry's fear was certainly a peculiar one, by what she saw. It wasn't grisly murder, it wasn't betrayal…he could've stood up to that in a heartbeat. What he was afraid of…_

_In an instant they were surrounded by cold metal bars and shadowy figures. The walls were built from hard stone as cold as the bars, with a disheartening mossy gleam to them. Torches stood to attention in candelabras screwed into the stones. There were unnerving scraping sounds echoing all around, an inhuman groan or two. Even before the slithering shadows passed through the hallway, Harry did not need a guess to know where they were. _

_They had landed in Azkaban Prison._

_A minute later, a few dark figures walked through the corridor, their faces half hidden by robes. The leaders of the group were two men Harry had never seen before. Right beside him was Cornelius Fudge, his face looking extremely worried. The third was Mr. Weasley, and the last one lagging behind was Moody himself._

"_I must warn you, what you're gonna see isn't gonna be a pretty sight. You sure you wanted to bring Mr. Weasley behind?" asked the stranger._

"_Wasn't really my decision now, was it?" Fudge growled, looking over his shoulder into Moody's scarred face. "Besides, rules dictate there must be at least one family member present to see to it nothing goes wrong. An ugly thing to face, but he has to be here."_

"_All right," the man consented, and they walked on. A second passed quickly, then Harry and Professor Mills followed behind._

"_What are the charges of the accused?" Fudge asked nonchalantly._

_The second man heaved a large sigh._

"_We see a lot of cases enter these walls, but I can honestly say this is one of the most bizarre criminals we've ever seen—and we do mean criminal. Sad thing…he just turned seventeen. Also makes him the youngest criminal we've arrested in a long while. Could've gotten away with pleading Imperius if it hadn't been for the fact he was swearing their love up and down AND that he wore the ring at the trial. Let's see—most of them are for murder. He took part in the conspiracy leading up to the murders of Albus Dumbledore, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Hestia Jones. He outright killed Hermione Granger, Dean Thomas, and repeatedly attempted on Harry Potter's life. Would have led You-Know-Who to his own family if Potter hadn't taken him down."_

_Fudge adapted a look of surprise. "I hadn't heard this before! When—?"_

"_We opposed his marriage," Arthur said, no emotion in his voice whatsoever. " 'Couldn't do with a Death Eater in our family', Molly told him. And he left to the Malfoy Manor right after."_

"_I suppose it IS true. Love does make one do strange things."_

"_Would it make you do murder?" Moody asked cynically. The second man gave out a disapproving sniff._

"_In any case, he's pretty much given up on living. We did in his husband the week before," the first man said. "Here we are."_

_The small congregation had stopped at the bars of one cell towards the end of the corridor. The first man reached up and dislodged a torch from one of the candelabras. He slipped the other hand into his robes and pulled out a set of skeleton keys. He turned around and gave the signal for everyone else to back up, stepping inside the cell. Harry stepped closer and took a closer look. For a quick minute he saw a quick flash of a mass of burning orange hair made dull from how many days passed from him not washing it._

"_Your time's come, Weasley," the man said gruffly. The redhead looked up silently, a scathing glare in his blue eyes._

"_You know your sentence, don't you? For acting in conspiracy, murder, and siding with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—"_

"_He's dead, isn't he? I think we can say 'Voldemort' without tripping over ourselves."_

_But to no avail; Fudge gave out the smallest of involuntary flinches, then quickly regained his composure. The man holding the torch sniffed derisively and continued._

"—_you are then hereby sentenced to receive the Dementor's Kiss, to be executed immediately," the man finished. "Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, Alastor Moody, and father Arthur Weasley stand here as witnesses. Any last words for you?"_

"_Just this."_

_He held up his left hand. On the finger beside the small one was a ruby ring of considerable karats set in true gold. It sparkled in the light of the torch flame._

"_Make sure I'm buried with this on my finger, and when you make my grave, my name is, was, and always will be Ronald Malfoy."_

"_Understood. All right, stand back, Minister, everyone…"_

_The man in the torch backed out of the cell again and closed the door, locking it again. Then he signaled for everyone to step back a couple of more steps. Professor Mills and Harry, however, stayed right where they are. They were only shadows here, just like the Dementor coming up the dark corridor. All of this was so surreal to the bespectacled boy. It was the first time he had gotten so close to one of Azkaban's guardians without feeling anything—it passed straight through him and paused, its misshapen head "facing" the man with the torch. He nodded, Mr. Weasley kept his head to the cut stone floor, and the Dementor slithered through the open doorway and into the shadows. Harry wanted his eyes to stray from the sight, but they couldn't. The image soon became burned into his mind: Ron not resisting in the slightest as the ghostly figure hovered over him and slowly…ever so slowly…stole his soul. _

_With a last breath, the redhead slipped down towards the floor in a heap. His blue eyes were glossed over, his mouth showing nothing, neither pain nor anger. Its deed done, the Dementor glided out and back to where it went to wait until another convict offered up their life force._

"_Will he be buried as you promised?" Mr. Weasley asked quietly._

"_He isn't dead yet...only on the inside he is," the second man replied, peering curiously into the cell. "But he will soon. He is devoid of all emotion, all feeling. He'll just sit there until he wastes away—"_

"_Spare him the details," Moody said sharply. "Our work here is done."_

_He looked through the iron bars as well and heaved a breath. "That boy…he was one of Harry's greatest friends, you know that? So was Miss Granger. It'll be all he can do not to go over the edge."_

"_What scares you most?" Mills asked complacently as the men walked through them and out of the corridor. "The possibility of Ron ending up here, Miss Granger dying by him, the fact you had to bring him to justice, or the possibility all this could actually happen?"_

"_Is it true?" Harry burst out. "Is Ron working for Malfoy?"_

_Professor Mills shrugged. "It is as much of a mystery to Ron himself as it is to you and Hermione."_

_When Harry shot her the confused expression she expected him to give, she added, "This whole affair of being in company with Mr. Malfoy has put everything at an odd advantage. It could be possible Mr. Malfoy is trying to manipulate him, but aren't you wondering if perhaps Ron is manipulating Mr. Malfoy?"_

"_Ron isn't that clever," he confessed frankly._

"_That isn't the point. Even I don't know if that's actually the case; I just threw it out there for consideration. My point is that you must have more confidence in your friends, or else…" She trailed off and nodded her head in the direction of Ron's listless body. "Let's see if you can do that."_

_Immediately Azkaban's maze of halls shrank back into nothingness. In the next instant Harry found himself in Ron's room at the Burrow, with Mills standing a little off to the side. Everything had changed so fast it took him a minute to notice Ron was sneaking into the room, closing the door with the greatest ease._

"_Ron's going to tell you something—the question is, will you support him or berate him like you always do?"_

_Harry nodded, and the redhead in front of him was now rummaging around under his mattress, muttering something along the lines of, "Could've sworn I put it 'round here somewhere…"_

_After a while he let out a sort of sound of triumph as he pulled out something from underneath his pillow, which made Harry cringe in guilt for a brief moment. Why did he always have to hide things beneath his pillow?_

"_I didn't want to tell anyone else before I told you first. My parents would go mad, and Hermione—well, you know her," Ron began, his face lit up like a fairy out in the wilderness. He sat down and gave Harry a box…a box he could actually feel and hold. Trying not to look so shocked, Harry opened the box to see the exact same ring he had seen the convicted Ron wear just a short while ago._

"_Where did you get this from?"_

"_Mr. Malfoy…" Ron said sheepishly._

"_I thought I told you—"_

"_I know what you told me! I know what everyone's been telling me!" Ron suddenly yelled, standing up. "And I'm sick of it. Mr. Malfoy wasn't lying; he really did quit the Death Eaters, and we really do have something serious. I wanted to tell you first since you've been my best friend the longest."_

"_Tell me what? He promised it would never happen again?" Harry asked sarcastically._

"_No…" Ron paused for a full three minutes. Harry raised his eyebrow. Then Ron turned and looked towards him fearfully._

"_He asked if I would marry him."_

(End Chap. 31)

Me: Took me long enough. So, how'd ya like it, everybody?

Harry and Ron: (gapes)

Me: (waves) Hello? Hello! Oh well. Until Chapter 32, everybody!


	32. Face It, Ron Weasley

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: Hello again! Again, I apologize for the lateness of the last chapter. Do you know how hard it is to think of Harry's worst fear when he's seen hell and worse? And now, between Plushie recently being sent off to Alcoholics Anonymous and Harry and Ron frozen stiff, Lucius is all I have left, and he's no picnic without Ron around for him to ogle. Then again, that's all we need.

Lucius: Today we have the third and final one of the Three Biggest Fears—my snookie-wookie poogle bear Ron!

Me: (gapes in surprise) Lucius, that's too OOC even for a crazy fanfic authoress like me, and you know what happens to muses who become OOC. (shoots him with a tranquilizer dart)

Lucius: Zzzzzzzzzz…

Me: Great. There goes my last muse. Guess that means all my muses are MIA (missing in action for the non-Army types) as of now. Fortunately, I just got a call from St. Mungo's. Draco should be back by the time I start Chapter 33, the tranquilizers in Lucius should wear off in a few hours, and Ron and Harry are currently unfreezing themselves. By the degree of Plushie's addiction, though, it's gonna take him much more time.

Lucius: Zzzzzzzzzzzzz…

Me: (lays blanket over him) Nighty night, Luci. (rubs hands together) Been a while since I drew back on my own creativity. Let's see what the Good Doc can come up with. You know what they say: save the best for last. Rolling! (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 32)

…It's been heard time and time again; the infamous phrase "between a rock and a hard place". Two inescapable realities, virtually impossible to decide between them. Are they either capable of unspeakable devastation or immense pleasure? The dilemma Ron had been facing up until now—choosing between friend Harry Potter and stranger Lucius Malfoy—wasn't considered, at least in his eyes, as that uncomfortable spot. It was simply a matter of choice. A very difficult choice, but still a choice.

But after the time Ron just spent with Hermione, he was pressed into that metaphorical space so tightly it threatened to steal away his very life…

"_I hate to say this, Ron, but it won't be any better for you to figure it out later than now. Whatever you choose, you still could end up miserable. Think about it. Harry's way too busy and way too distraught to have a girlfriend—or a boyfriend. We both know it's top priority for him to defeat Voldemort right now, and he can't have any more people close to him hurt. That's why he broke up with Cho."_

"_Are you sure it wasn't because she was still going all loony over Diggory?"_

"_I'm serious, Ron!"_

"_Well, you telling me I have no hope isn't making me feel any better! Can I at least _ask_ Harry before I just give up on him?"_

_A long pause._

"_I guess I can't stop you...but just swear to me one thing. Even if Harry says no, _don't go back to Mr. Malfoy._"_

"_But I made a promise—"_

"_That "promise" meant nothing to him. Are you really going to put your life into the hands of Mr. Malfoy? No rejection is worth that! It wasn't that long ago when we fought him in the Department of Mysteries. He lied once before to escape Azkaban; he's still an alleged Death Eater, he took you hostage—"_

"_Yeah, I get the point."_

"_I don't think you do! Honestly, Ron, I thought you had more common sense…"_

The call of the Slytherin Quidditch captain filtered through the tarp under the stands. The wind was particularly strong today as it forced the tarp to do a wild dance. Under it, Ron leaned on one of the wooden posts, scowling darkly. What was most disconcerting about the entire situation was that, as everyone should know by now, Hermione was usually, if not always, right about matters. On the other hand, Ron argued stubbornly over and over in his mind, no person was capable of knowing everything.What did she know about feelings? About love? She never stepped foot inside the Malfoy Manor. She hadn't been there to witness the odd, yet captivating transformation the notorious Death Eater had made. Voldemort had already killed his wife, so what else did Lucius have to gain?

What if, for once, Hermione Granger was actually wrong?

Even if she hadn't put forth her comments, the decision was already made. He hadn't wanted to admit it to Hermione; then they would have actually agreed on something.

He had been planning to quit on Harry Potter the entire time.

He could have simply let it go, and they wouldn't have said anything more about it. Nevertheless, Harry just had to have the urge to pursue the facts of the case, to seek uncomfortable truths and solve them as best as he could. But not even the Boy Who Lived could solve everything. There was no point in solving the tangled emotions of a teenage boy, a boy prone to act upon those emotions. There was no point in figuring out the invisible string which connected the hearts of both this boy and a Death Eater unsure of his own soul. But then the recurring doubts always came back. That string could be powerful, but betrayal could snip it in an instant. What could he do? To whom could he turn to now? There was no point in anything anymore.

In a strange, split second of coincidence, just as the captain was calling the end to practice Ron made a little choking sound and rubbed his itching eyes.

…Graceful as rain dropping down from the sky, Blaise Zabini dismounted his Nimbus 2001 and stepped down onto the grass. The same, commonplace practice. Wait for one of the empty-headed Beaters to clear the way, then move in, take the Quaffle, and take care of business. Now he knew how Seekers felt, just sitting on their brooms until that ball flew into sight. Anyone could very well say that the Slytherin team was merciless, but they were repetitive if anything. A small part of his conscience whispered to him that he should tell the captain that if they focused on nothing but Chaser-hunting tactics, the other teams would catch on and take advantage of their weak defense. Then again, even if they were his fellow Slytherins, he had no mercy for simpletons. It was a long shot, but they'd figure it out eventually.

He started to walk in the direction of the changing rooms when he spotted a pair of feet under the tarp. He smiled. He saw Ron come down the valley quite a while ago, but hadn't seen him since, _and_ he seemed pretty upset. There was no mistaking it.

This was his chance. He could change later.

…Meanwhile, Ron was still rubbing his eyes stubbornly. He made up his mind already that he wasn't going to stoop this low...at least, for a second time. Crying would be the last thing he would do.

"Where's Potter and Granger?"

Ron jumped up in shock and turned around to find a dark-haired boy slipping under the tarp, one arm flipping it over backhandedly. What was more, he was wearing the color of green.

"Zabini?"

"Forgot me already?" He gave a sneer, but it didn't have half of the animosity behind Draco's.

"And another thing. You helped me and Draco that one night. I have nothing against you, so let's be on a first-name basis, all right?"

Ron hesitated to answer, and then the memories came back to him. That slow, soft, fatherly voice unbecoming on a seventeen-year-old; that confident personality...

Suddenly another one returned, and he froze up even more. Did he know about…?

"I guess we're both in bad ruts. Draco and I broke up—he didn't tell me until we got back to Hogwarts, of course, but now it's _really _official," Blaise commented coolly. "Apparently his father was more determined to break us up than I thought."

He paused, choosing his words carefully.

"Course, I'm sure he had another reason."

When he saw Ron raise his eyebrow, he quickly added, "But I'm not here to talk about Draco; that's all behind me. I'd like to talk about you."

…October fourteenth.

The last day of Professor Mills' Pensieve trials.

Coincidental or not, Blaise had planned his scheme out flawlessly. He, Ron, and a girl from Ravenclaw named Lisa Turpin were the last ones scheduled to endure the test. Ron hadn't seen Blaise at any time on the thirteenth, but the conversation they had on the twelfth had been interesting enough for him to mull it over for the extra day. Nothing had been said outright, but Ron had the lurking suspicion that Blaise was looking for a replacement. He had done nothing else except touch his cheek lovingly, but that caressing touch alone had been enough to set off the redhead's imagination.

Now they were here, standing close in Professor Mills' room. The Ravenclaw had been the first to dive inside, and so the two were biding their time. As Ron glanced in the other direction, Blaise stole a glance at his face. He hadn't wanted to say it when they were at the Manor, but—

"You have an interesting face."

Ron turned back to him. "What?"

"You always look like you're confused about something. I take it something's bothering you."

Ron should have felt grateful that he knew what he was going through, but now he was starting to be a little freaked out. Had it been a simple guess or impressive intuition? It was striking himself as a bit odd that he was even talking with a Slytherin, but this one was different somehow.

"Yeah, kind of..."

Nothing more was said. Both attentions were now focused on the obsidian bowl on the desk in front of them as the pearly liquid inside began to morph and change color. All in the next moment two figures leaped out of the Pensieve and landed on the floor as if jumping out of bowls was natural. The girl in the blue and black robes—who had looked uneasy before she dove inside—was now shaking at the knees. Professor Mills gave her a pat on the shoulder, informed her briefly of her alternatives, and sent her on her way with a sympathetic smile. The second the door closed she looked down at Ron.

"Mr. Weasley, you're next, I take it?" she asked amiably. Ron gulped and nodded.

"No worries. We'll be in and out before you know it. Deposit your thought, please."

Ron walked up and peered in, putting his wand to his temple. Blaise looked on as a sliver of light was extracted and dropped into the Pensieve.

"Wonderful, Mr. Weasley. Let's be on our way, shall we?"

They joined hands, and for a moment Ron had the urge to look back behind his shoulder. Blaise smiled in encouragement, which made him feel all the better. He plunged his arm into the bowl, and the two disappeared before the Slytherin's eyes.

…_In and out indeed._

_As soon as Ron broke through to the other side, he realized that he was going in without any knowledge of what it would be like. He had been too busy fighting Harry and Hermione to ask them or anybody how their test went. He could say the lessons had given him sufficient experience, but that had been easier to handle, and they were using much less scary memories or none at all, just dropping into a white space. And no matter how many times he fell through a Pensieve—even if he did it at the extent Professor Mills did—falling through pitch-black darkness at nearly breakneck speed would always be horrifying to him._

_After a couple of minutes their feet hit solid ground, although it was hard to tell where exactly the floor was at first. A while longer, then the darkness transformed into a scene all too familiar. _

_He landed in exactly the same place Draco did—the Malfoy Manor. _

_However, it looked nowhere near as derelict as it did in Draco's memory. If at all, the grand foyer was just as inviting as it ever was. The archaic chandelier emitted the dim glow of white, dripping candles. The navy-blue loom of the carpet laid over the stairs looked as comfortable as it felt. It was only yesterday that, whenever Ron was in an inexcusable rush to get across to the other side of the house to answer the Malfoys' needs, he leapt down those stairs in bare feet. This wasn't his home, of course, but in that instant Ron felt the pain of homesickness._

"_My worst memory is here?"he asked. "But—"_

"_You thought this was the place you wanted to come back to the most," Mills finished. "Like I said, your worst fear is just a possibility of what will happen."_

_The sentence barely escaped her lips when Ron picked up the sound of voices coming through the parlor door. Then it turned to loud screams--his own screams. He turned back to Mills, who raised her eyebrows as if to suggest he should see what it was. Turning back, he took a breath to gather his courage and walked towards the door to open it. There was no need to, actually. As soon as he touched the doorknob he remembered the rule about everything in the Pensieve being more or less a realistic illusion; his hand went right through. After getting over the brief shock, he dropped right through._

_And that was when he received the greatest shock of all._

_It was a grotesque twist on the dream he had a couple of months before. There they were, he and Lucius, but something was seriously wrong. Instead of enjoying the warmth of the older man's body, Ron was lying alone on the couch, his shirt and skin soaked with red. His eyes were glazed and bloodshot, his mouth partly open and scarcely breathing. Looming over him was Lucius, not with a gaze of affection, but contempt. His hands were sans gloves, covered instead with the redhead's blood._

"_I can't decide which is more humorous: you having so much compassion—and so much desperation—that you would fall in lust with a Death Eater, or that you actually went on the Hogwarts Express with such high hopes. Didn't your friends warn you about me? Were they _that_ uncaring about your well-being? You should be pleased they'll be dead soon."_

_The blond leaned over and proceeded to grab a handful of hair and pull him up to his face. The Ron in the image cried out in pain, only succeeding in broadening Mr. Malfoy's smirk._

"_I almost feel regret for this, but this wasn't all on my own accord. All I did was lay the trap. The rest was up to you to decide—and you did so. Poorly."_

_He dropped the boy back down onto the pillows and adapted a contemplative frown. All through this the Ron on the couch remained nothing more than an unresponsive doll. Whatever had happened before they got here had apparently been traumatic. The other one, the real one, also stood in the corner of the room like a stone statue._

"_On the other hand, with disappointments come rewards. I must consider the only reason you even bothered returning was that no one, not even someone you respected and fawned over for years, was willing to quench your sexual desires. It would even be beastly of me to leave your wishes unfulfilled," Lucius said. He stepped closer to the bleeding body and picked him up. The two then floated past the real Ron. _

"_Let me at least grant you that. It is"—at this he let out a human laugh—"what did I say in the letter? A bad person's greatest joy?"_

_Lucius opened the door the real Ron couldn't before, and the illusions left. At that moment Professor Mills floated inside._

"_Are you all right?" she asked._

"_Why should I be?" Ron snapped back. "Why is everyone telling me I shouldn't go back? He isn't like that!"_

"_First point I'd like to make, Mr. Weasley, is that this is your own subconscious telling you this time, not me. Secondly they have much to fear, even yourself, which is why this manifested as your worst fear in the first place. But yours is a particularly interesting one. All of the other students' fears were nightmares, things probably even a Boggart wouldn't touch. Would you like to know why I thought Potter's, Malfoy's, and yours were the three worst fears of all?"_

_Ron stayed silent. Somehow he knew she would divulge the answer anyway._

"_I said it before. The one aspect of a fear that determines whether it's truly scary is how realistic it is—how so possible it could really happen. Fearing something unlikely is one thing, but to see something that could very well happen to you tomorrow…that is _true _terror. Why waste your time in nightmares if your life is frightening enough as it is?" Mills explained. "Now do you know how you'll be able to face this fear?"_

_Ron stayed quiet for a long time, mulling over her words. Finally he gave an answer._

"_Um…I don't know what will really happen, so I guess all I have to do is take a chance on Mr. Malfoy and go in December. Whatever happens, happens."_

_Mills smiled, and the entire image of the parlor collapsed into an almost blinding white light. Before long everything disappeared, including Mills._

"_Professor Mills—!"_

"_Don't worry, Mr. Weasley," her voice called out."If at all I should congratulate you."_

"_Why?"_

"_Why do you think?"_

_It took a little while longer before it dawned on him. Amidst his complaints, his confusion, and, for lack of a better term, his fear, Ron Weasley then became the first student in all of Hogwarts to pass Professor Mills' test._

(End Chap. 32)

Me: As extremely corny as it sounds, will the power of love indeed conquer all, including Hermione's sensibility and Harry's raging paranoia? We'll just have to wait and see, won't we? Happy Belated Valentine's Day, from us here at B&DD to you.


	33. Double Play

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: WOW. (peeks at the gray text under the story summary which says "Updated: ---") Has it really been that long? You must understand I'm a high school senior, and that will probably be the busiest year of your life—or was the busiest. Anyway, Chapter 32 was a little shorter and less gruesome than I promised myself it would be, but I hope the upcoming B/R passion will make up for that and my blatant absence. I just haven't been feeling inspired lately. (that is, unless you actually liked it and/or forgive me, in which case I simply hope you like the upcoming B/R passion.) Fortunately all my muses are back in business.

Harry: Well, except for Plushie—

(All of a sudden a plane flies over the theater. The escape hatch drops down and a wooden crate comes down and crashes through the ceiling, landing right in front of us. On it is marked "UNCURABLE" in big black letters.)

Plushie: (pops out of the box) Whoo, what a rush! What time izzit? Oh, hi Doc! Speaking of which, I didn't exactly get cured, but I found a way to maintain it. Whenever I drink, my cotton absorbs it. So whenever I drink too much, all you have to do is renew my stuffing. Did I miss much?

Me: Not really, but let me just say this, which I should have said earlier. Now that the Fear Chapters are over, there's not much to do now except for twiddle your thumbs and wait for Ron to hop back on Luci's back. Think: we're in mid-October. They said December. All that stands in our way is November.

All: YAY!

Me: Yay indeed, so let's get down to business. I'll look up a contractor to fix that hole in the meantime. In honor of your somewhat-successful recovery, Plushie, would you like to push the button?

Plushie: (grabs remote, is almost crushed by it, then gets up again) Rolling! (click)

(Begin Chap. 33)

…October fifteenth.

On this chilly early afternoon, the sixth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins were sitting in Professor Mills' class like any other day. She had said that after the Pensieve test, they would be going more into detail about nonverbal spells and predicting the enemy's moves, therefore getting the upper hand in magical conflicts. Today had been strictly bookwork, but no one was complaining. It was a welcome change from the past couple of weeks. It seemed that everything, more or less, had reverted back to normal.

As the weak sunlight filtered through the streaked windows, Professor Mills got up from behind her desk and walked to the center of the room with a face they thought only McGonagall could pull off, signaling for the students to close their books.

"All right everyone. Sorry to cut work short, but I'd like to use these last five minutes of class to discuss the results of the Pensieve test," she announced. "Unfortunately I only had two students from fifth year and above pass, and they're sitting in this room right now: Ronald Weasley and Blaise Zabini."

Blaise looked completely unfeeling as Draco glared at him disbelievingly, but everyone was gawking at a blushing Ron, including Harry. (He had told Hermione but not him.)

"However, I hope you took something from this, the least of which is that reality is _far_ scarier than fiction—I've said it once and now I've said it again," Mills said firmly. "When you take the retest at the end of the year, I guarantee you'll be better prepared. I confess you were at a disadvantage this time, but nothing prepares you quite like the unexpected. Now, let's go over the written exam. Since we haven't been able to cover many topics in these past two months, it'll simply be an eight-inch essay detailing your experience in the Pensieve and how you hope to handle it at the end of the year. Let's see…next Tuesday should suffice. That way it won't interfere with the Quidditch match that following Wednesday. Looks like Ravenclaw versus Slytherin."

Everyone was astounded, especially the players in the class. The captains hadn't scheduled any matches yet, so no official date had been declared.

"One final note: the people who passed aren't required to check in on Tuesday. Oh, and leave your finished work on your desks so I can collect them. Class dismissed."

I think I know what you're thinking at this point. Isn't this another "convenient" mishap, that Blaise should so happen to pass the test along with Ron; a plot device written simply to alleviate the author's dilemma, one might say. In all truth—even though that might well be the case—think about it a little more. Aside from Harry, Blaise had no other reason why he could not have passed the trial. I believe you already know why Harry failed.

And what was Blaise's own fear, you ask?

It would sound a little ludicrous even if I told you, but if you must know, Blaise's greatest fear was seeing Draco's feelings being crushed into nothing by Harry Potter, in worst-case-scenario, even leading to suicide. It had been horrible to see. The dormitory was dark...of course, it was Slytherin's after all, but there had been a terrible shade to it, a menacing kind of darkness. When he had seen the lumpy shadow lying in Draco's bed and pulled back the curtains out of curiosity, he literally jumped back in fright. The knife swiped from the kitchens, the blood complementing the silver beautifully. His robes had been messy; green blended with red, ironically seeming Christmas-like. What made him feel particularly guilty was that he hadn't been there to prevent it, just like Seamus.

The solution provided? Justified revenge.

He didn't have anything against Harry either, but it had been a necessary evil. Blaise had never thought of Draco as a boyfriend; he had been someone for him to protect until the day he grew a spine and admitted his true feelings. And until Harry accepted, Blaise still held himself to that responsibility. It was disheartening, yes, but Blaise never let it bother him that much. There had been one problem, though, and he had addressed it to Professor Mills, who mysteriously agreed wholeheartedly.

The problem was that Harry shouldn't have been the only one to blame.

The whole experience had certainly been an eye-opener. He long since decided that he would never be able to convince Draco with words alone. Blaise decided to act upon his emotions instead. It was cruel to do, but cruelty was as cruelty did. It didn't go without saying that Draco had done some terrible things in his time; only this let Blaise feel no regrets. The point wasn't to make him miserable, anyway. If at all, he wanted the stubborn blonde to realize that he would be much happier with Potter.

And what would be better to arouse his jealousy than to woo the person he hated most? If Ron decided to choose him instead of Lucius, it would be welcomed without any complaint whatsoever. But if Ron wanted to go to Lucius after all, somehow that would be even better. The only thing that could go wrong was if Draco started developing real feelings for Blaise instead. And who knew how long it would be before the Malefecium Elixir started setting in? He could get Ron away from him at the same time.

In an odd twist of fate, Professor Mills gave the perfect opportunity.

…October twenty-first.

One would have hardly believed that just a week ago the students of Hogwarts had been wrestling with their inner demons. Today, everyone lost themselves in a haze of excitement and house pride as it was the day of the season's first game. Yes, it fell on a Wednesday.

Among the enchanted crowd, Ron had been up in the stands along with Hermione and Harry, watching Slytherin attempting to beat the crap out of the blue-cloaked Chasers, cheering for Ravenclaw with all their strength. Personally, Ron had been keeping his eye on Blaise. Even though the Slytherin team was a bunch of dirty cheaters, nobody could deny the finesse of Zabini. He never had to cheat and he never wanted to. Still, even at the climax of the game, when Lee Jordan gabbed on excitedly about Cho Chang having the Snitch in sight mere seconds before Zabini and that it had "taken all her strength but it still hadn't been enough to beat the Slytherins to the punch"…even as every Slytherin cheered and hollered out Blaise's name…there was something about him that had defeated all that…

It was only a matter of time now.

The pact to meet today had taken place the day before, as the rest of their class had been busy making up for the Pensieve test. They had parted their separate ways for most of the day, but at one point they happened to meet on the fifth floor…

"_Hey, Ron."_

"_Um…hi."_

"_Hmm…guess Professor Mills was right."_

"_Huh?"_

"_The first game of the season. Professor Mills predicted it. The Ravenclaw captain said we couldn't have it no later than that, and Hufflepuff's slated to play against Gryffindor in order to qualify," Blaise explained. "No offense, but they don't have half the aggression to play Quidditch in the first place…"_

_All through this conversation Ron could only nod understandably, giving a laugh or two to anything clever he said. Although he was the Gryffindor Keeper, he only knew half the stuff Blaise was talking about. It was a bit sad, but he only played Quidditch as a hobby…and to keep close to Harry…_

"_So, are you coming to watch me play?"_

_Caught off-guard, Ron's head snapped up to look into Blaise's gray eyes._

"_You _are_ coming, right?"_

_Ron nodded quickly and Blaise smiled warmly. Unfortunately, Ron thought that was all he was going to do. Before he could step back in reflex, Blaise leaned in and gently touched his cheek with his moist lips before whispering into his ear, "May not be something a Gryffindor should do, but if it's not too much trouble, cheer for me, won't you?"_

_He leaned back for a minute to admire the crimson blush on the redhead's cheeks, and then walked away confidently. Then he stopped._

"_Oh. I think you were also wondering about how Draco is taking all this drama that's been going on lately," Blaise added. "If you want anything from me, meet me by the locker rooms after the game tomorrow."_

…As usual, Ron didn't know what he was doing.

It had taken him ages just to shake off Hermione, and then he had to backtrack to the locker rooms at the far side of the castle. The Slytherin team had long since changed and left. There was no one here as far as he could see. Confused, he walked around the gathering of fortified shacks and peeked into one of the small square windows. Through the dirty streaks of dried steam, he could make out the row of showers, a couple of storage cabinets. However, he didn't see any figures moving about.

He started to get annoyed. Blaise could perhaps be the nicest individual he had ever met—and to some degree it was true—but he was still chosen to be a Slytherin. This was either a grave mistake or a cruel trick. Not even catching himself, he was hoping with just about all his strength that it was the former.

"You here?"

Ron gasped inaudibly and turned around to see Blaise, still in his Quidditch uniform.

"Sorry for the wait. Had to take care of something first. But we can't talk here."

With that, Blaise rummaged around in his cloak and pulled out a small key, putting it into the door. Before Ron could ask the question, he gave the answer.

"Any player—especially the star player, and most of all the team captain—gets the key just by asking. An unwritten rule," Blaise commented. He opened the door, turned, and beckoned the redhead inside. This was different. This would be his first step inside another team's locker room…Slytherin's, at that. As he walked inside, he had an odd feeling deep in his stomach. Somehow he knew this wouldn't end well.

And as we should know by now, Ron tended to be right, even when he didn't want to.

Blaise closed the door behind him, looked around for a minute to make sure no one was eavesdropping, and sat down on one of the benches.

"Well, as you know, everyone and their owl were there when Draco tried to ruin your reputation."

"That's a nice way to put it," Ron snapped.

"There's no other way _to_ put it. I guess you were lucky Mr. Malfoy sent that Howler, huh?"

The cynical way he put that last sentence forced Ron to ask him what else he knew.

"I'm saying it was too much of a coincidence. I know you like Mr. Malfoy and all, but tattling to him won't solve anything. I _know_ you can stand up to Draco without his father's help...in fact, that's something I would more expect from him. I've seen you beat him before...many times before." He shrugged, one edge of his lip tucked into a corner to make a sly smirk. "I guess you really love Draco's father. Otherwise you would have called Draco out," continued Blaise.

"I don't—!"

"And _don't_ try to deny it. I lived in the Malfoy Manor for most of the summer," Blaise said sharply. "Mr. Malfoy may've been going at it the wrong way, but I'm pretty sure you can see the love underneath. As much as I despise him, I know he tried to break us up only to protect Draco. To be honest, I was secretly glad."

Now _this_ was a surprise to him. "Why?"

"Draco only went out with me because he was too scared to admit his feelings for someone else."

Now was the time. It was here or nowhere else.

At this point he stood up and walked ever so slowly towards Ron. The redhead started to break out in a cold sweat. When he came to within an inch of Ron, Blaise reached up and touched his chin…just like he did the first time. Ron knew all along where this was going,...and yet…he couldn't find the willpower to back away. Did he even _want_ to? This was probably the most handsome Slytherin next to Malfoy himself—and that was saying a hell of a lot.

_But what—_

"And now that I don't have to baby-sit him anymore, I can get the one _I_ want."

_But what about—_

His thoughts were silenced by a sweet and mellow taste invading his mouth. Ron stood there for a while with his eyes open, still shocked at what was happening, but eventually his vision of the Slytherin's face gave way to darkness. Shortly after, he felt a pair of hands held his face gently in place. A voice in the back of his mind was trying its hardest to remind him that something about all this was wrong. He couldn't figure out the reasons why…something about a guy named Draco…whatever. He couldn't be bothered with this guilt now. A mysterious force was leading him somewhere…

For a split second, Ron pulled away from Blaise's kiss and stared around in panic as he felt the sensation of tumbling down. No...the dark-haired boy was only allowing him to lay flat on the back upon the wooden bench. Blaise broke the kiss a second time as he tried to find a comfortable position. He wanted to lie just below his abdomen so he wouldn't crush him. Ever so slowly, Blaise covered Ron's body, nearly every contour fitting within each other; this alone probably raised the cabin temperature by a couple of degrees.

At this point Blaise was done warming his cheeks; his hands now wanted to explore the redhead's body. Apparently Blaise had perfected this into an art form in itself—he used the tips of his fingers to trace each line, once in a while pushing a finger or two deeper into the softer areas, eliciting a series of content moans. Ron wasn't exactly aware of this, but his body was writhing slightly, the feeling of want was too strong. Yes, this may have been his own entire plan, but Blaise was becoming impatient as well.

At the same time, the young alchemist smiled to himself wryly. Everything was going along to plan almost too perfectly. Just a matter of natural jealousy. If this didn't force Draco to admit the truth to himself, nothing short of death would.

Which reminded him, didn't he tell Draco to meet him here five minutes ago?

(End Chap. 33)

Draco: Damn you, Blaise Zabini! Stop playing with my emotions!

Ron: Isn't anybody else concerned that I'm getting a heck of a lot of play in this fic?

Lucius: I do hope you're going to pry that little alchemist hussy off my lover soon. (death glare at me)

Me: Uh…don't worry! All that and more will be revealed soon in the next chapter!


	34. Showers

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Lucius: I am still demanding that Blaise remove himself from my property!

Ron: (a little put off) "Property"?

Me: Hold your Hippogriffs, dammit! I didn't even get to the point where Blaise—

Lucius: (pulls out his wand): _Crucio!_ (spell bounces off of me)

Me: Authoress powers, remember? Oh, but I told Ron this before you came along, so I guess you're not up to speed. (Lucius starts to have a fit.) In other big news, I now have the _official forum_ up for this fic and its fandom on the website! (more mysterious confetti showers down from an unknown source) It's under the same title as this story, so go visit, discuss, predict, ask questions, and fawn over the loveliness that is Lucius/Ron.

Harry: And don't forget your other project.

Me: Oh yeah! Soon I'll be starting another fanfic called "Hogwarts 2240". What's it about, you ask? You'll have to find out when I'm ready for its debut. However, don't despair: it won't take away from this. But let's get to the nitty-gritty—and I do mean the nitty-gritty; there's one harsh word here—and get to the chappie! I tried to get artsy with this chapter like I had for the first 17 or so chapters, so if you see a lot of metaphors and one-liners, I apologize.

Lucius: As long as—

Me: _Silencio!_ (Lucius shuts up) Nyeah-nyeah. Rolling! (click)

(Begin Chap. 34)

…From the very moment Blaise pulled him aside on the second floor to "talk to him for a brief moment", Draco knew none of this was going to end well. He should've turned back.

The solemn look on his face…nowhere near as frightening as the day when he invariably told him that his mother had died, but he knew right away something bigger was behind this. On top of which, this was the first time they talked since their awful tiff over a week ago.

He never thought of connecting the two together, but Draco also hadn't seen Ron tagging alongside Hermione all day neither. Huh. That sounded weird to his ears. Then again, it wouldn't be possible to say "alongside Harry" anymore. Now here was something even weirder: influence of the Malefecium Elixir or not, Draco was starting to believe this whole argument had gone too far, even for someone as unstable as Potter. Hadn't his own school-wide embarrassment in the Great Hall a week ago been evidence enough to get Weasley off the hook? And if Granger wasn't going to take sides, she'd be sucked up into this soon enough. He hadn't seen much animosity from the dark-haired Gryffindor being directed towards the girl yet, but it was a road being fast paved.

All of a sudden, rays of sunlight filled his eyes, forcing him to blink and distract himself from his thoughts. Draco had rounded the side of the hill facing away from the lake. From this point, he could stare off towards the distant Quidditch field and the northern section of the Forbidden Forest. The day was creeping ever closer to late afternoon. Students were taking their last classes of the day. Draco thought he could afford to skip Charms for the day. There was nothing more boring to him than sitting through that class anyway. Even Transfiguration provided some entertainment once in a while. The sky was a deep blue, beginning to be overcome by a gray blanket once again. The sun was inching towards the horizon, almost in line with the locker rooms on the castle's side…

The locker rooms.

That was where Blaise told him to meet.

Whatever it was, it must have been important; Blaise came to him with all of his Quidditch gear still on. As it almost always is with complicated choices such as these, there were two voices pestering him. One of them told him that nothing felt right about this, yet the other voice was trying to reassure him that this was still the Blaise Zabini he used to know and make love to. Just to make things easier, he decided to shut his inner pessimist's mouth. If it turned out badly, he thought, how bad could it get exactly?

He breathed in the wind deeply and made his way across the grassy meadow.

Poor boy had no idea.

...Time had passed. The sunlight had changed angles; its brightness filtered in through the small window, making it slightly lighter inside. Blaise could just make out the water taps behind Ron's back.

He expected Draco to be here earlier than this, yet this didn't faze Blaise.He might as well make it more interesting. Therefore, by this time they had moved themselves from the benches to the dry showers. But they were about to be dry no more. Blaise moved Ron to the side, sneaking his hand behind him and twisting the knob. In the next moment, a cascade of warm water flowed down in a single rushing flow. The water soaked completely through their clothes and made the porcelain tiles slick. The two slowly slipped down together until they were in the sitting position. Surprised by the sudden wetness, Ron tried to wipe his eyes. To help him, the dark-haired one gently pushed him into a corner where the water couldn't reach them.

"I haven't taken my shower yet," Blaise answered before he could start asking.

His hands wandered up to Ron's neck and unfastened his soggy black cloak. With a little maneuvering he threw it out of the way and moved on to the trickiest part of the Hogwarts uniform: the sweater. After a few moments, that was off and to the side as well. But before Blaise could wrap his deft fingers around the ivory buttons of the redhead's white blouse, Ron put a finger up to his lips. The young alchemist looked up at him inquiringly.

"If we're gonna go any further, then tell me why."

"Huh?"

"You're not doing this just to get back at Malfoy, are you?" Ron asked skeptically. "And if you're so sure I have feelings for Mr. Malfoy, then—"

He hadn't expected Ron to doubt this, not that he exactly took him as being easy. But Blaise had an answer ready. He was always prepared. That was the whole point of seduction: to expect the unexpected.

"Take my word for it: Mr. Malfoy amounts to nothing but danger," he replied solemnly. "As long as I've spent time with Draco at the manor, as long as my father's known his, I know exactly what he's like. Even if he's not trying to do you in, it'd raise a few eyebrows if you and he started having an affair. I mean, aren't you friends with Potter. I'm surprised you forgave him for whipping you that other time." (At this Ron stayed silent.) "And no, I don't want revenge on Draco. No offense to him but I can do a _lot_ better."

It was then that Blaise's serious side came through and posed the all-important question.

"Face it: if you can't even trust me, how can you trust Draco's father?"

His head dove down to the nape of his neck and tasted the flavor of soft, moist skin, promptly making the redhead forget all previous concerns. Ron gasped and practically melted into Blaise's arms.

And…

Through the roaring of the shower…

He heard the doorknob turn.

…Blaise almost bit through the skin of Ron's neck as he whipped around at the sound of the door slamming open. He wasn't exactly surprised; the only part he was surprised about was that Draco had the strength to do something like that. Even then, he should at least act the part.

The dramatic backlight alone was enough to announce Draco's arrival. The vengeful figure's blonde hair was wild, thrown up and out, and not because of the wind. His eyes were of blue fire, prepared to burn both boys' organs clean away. The sound of the water, everyone's breathing…every molecule in the air slowed down. Ron could hear every little movement. He heard the stable, rapid tapping of footsteps coming towards them. In that instant, that very short second of time before everyone's world came crashing down, Ron Weasley actually felt respect towards Draco Malfoy.

Much to his shock (and relief), though, he didn't go after Ron first. An arm flashed out and grabbed Blaise by the neck, shoving him roughly against the tiles. Ron hoped to all the higher powers he did not hear one of them crack.

"_You damn backstabbing Mudblood—!_"

To further compound Ron's amazement, Blaise wasn't the least bit intimidated. His gray eyes narrowed severely. Standing up so straight so fast one would have forgotten that he was standing on wet porcelain, the dark-haired boy used his own strength and pushed him back. Draco's face crumpled into a look of confusion and horror as he stumbled and fell on top of the wooden bench, groaning with pain, but breathing heavily with furor. (It wouldn't even be logical to use the word 'stumble'. If not for the quick reflexes of his right hand, Draco would have completely fallen off and over the other side.) Stepping out of the shower, Blaise went to stand victoriously over his former lover.

"You moved on. I moved on," he said coldly.

There was a short and tense silence as Draco minded his wounds and tried (the key word being "tried") to catch his temper.

"But why _Weasley?_" he whined in frustration.

"So what? He doesn't look that bad, does he?" Blaise said. He looked behind his shoulder and smiled wryly at Ron as if Draco wasn't even there. "Besides, I still owed him from back at the manor."

Ron immediately took the hint that Blaise was toying with Draco's mind. He didn't fully understand why, but it was possible that he was trying to deliberately push Draco to a certain point. What that point was he didn't know, but he'd be lucky if he could get out of this unscathed. As soon as he pulled himself out of one scandal he became involved in another one.

"I'm not talking about his looks, though that's something in itself," Draco muttered. "It's his reputation. You never heard of the Weasleys? That family wouldn't recognize a Galleon if someone put a Wingardium Leviosa charm on it and floated it in front of their damn faces."

"That's not what I heard. According to the paper, he's about to get some of yours," Blaise retorted.

The cabin became dead silent with those words, a single drop of water expressing its utter shock. Ron used to believe Draco couldn't get any angrier than when he slammed the door open.

He was dead wrong.

His eyes deadly slits, Draco became like a liquid. This time with both arms straight out, his fingers bent like dragons' claws, he lunged forward for one more assault. With equal agility Blaise dodged, his cloak flapping amid those still molecules. He grabbed him at the back and shoved the blond into the rock slab of the ground below. That was too harsh even for Ron's amusement, so he punched Blaise in the arm with a ferocity one would expect from a Weasley.

"What're you, mad! That's a bloody stone floor!" he scolded. Not knowing what else to do, Blaise moved out of the way for Ron to kneel down. That turned out to be a huge mistake as well. His outstretched hand was slapped away immediately by the enraged Slytherin.

"_Don't…fucking…touch me!_"

He staggered up slowly like an old man, clutching the wooden bench for support. One half of his face was red and bruised, teeny stones entrenched in his right cheek. The sapphires in his eyes were shattered. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with unshed tears. Was that was Blaise told him to come here for? If so, he was better off going to Charms.

With clenched fists Draco stumbled through the threshold, his pride and his life all but ruined.

…Somehow, Draco knew this was the absolute end. His life couldn't get much worse than this.

Engaged in a seemingly futile mission for Voldemort, further complicated by his concealed passions…

His mother murdered by the Dark Lord, and the only thing his father did to show remorse was to change his will…

The ever-looming possibility that his father held true feelings for one of his greatest enemies…

Half of the fortune he was promised since birth given willingly to that aforementioned enemy…

His former lover, not only betraying him, but adding insult to injury by allowing him to witness that scene...

And soon, the only person he ever really loved would soon be taken by a deadly potion, not any better than if he had force-fed it to him himself.

Probably the saddest part of all this was that Draco couldn't get any farther than the Quidditch pitch. He had stumbled blindly, not exactly going anywhere. He didn't have a destination in mind; all he wanted was to escape that horrid scene. Blaise…together with Ron…he was going to be sick.

He collapsed to his knees near one of the stands and lifted his head weakly. Even the weather was plotting against him. What had been just gray lace on the horizon a few minutes before was now a thick cotton blanket. A few weak raindrops hit him in the face. They became stronger and faster until he and his clothes were as soaked as those two traitors in the locker room.

Ron…that was the last name he thought of before he blacked out.

..."It's about time your team's practiced."

"Nobody wanted to at first; it was lucky we got in one this month. I had to let everyone recover from Professor Mills' test…even myself."

Hermione pulled her black cloak farther over her head to make a shield from the rain, for a moment becoming lost in her thoughts. Then she looked over to Harry and glared.

"You could at least pull your cloak over your head. You're going to catch a cold."

Harry smirked and took off his glasses to rub the lenses the best he could.

"I swear, Hermione, sometimes I think you're really my mother."

Out of nowhere Hermione laughed, and soon so did Harry. He didn't know exactly what was so hilarious about it, but it felt good to laugh. He always did when he could; it seemed like the older he got, the more problems and death seemed to follow him. That was the first time he had actually failed a test of any kind in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and something that serious _really _called for his attention. If Ron truly had pledged his loyalty to Lucius Malfoy, then…

As fast as she started, Hermione stopped laughing and gasped, nearly choking on the pouring rain.

Harry looked up from his glasses and squinted to see what exactly she was gawking at. From his perspective, it just looked like the mass of dark brown he could identify as the castle. He put the glasses back on and finally found a faint speck of white-yellow at the base of the wall.

"Who—?" he began to ask. Taking up on an instinct he began to run up the slope of wet grass, Hermione trailing close behind. He was tired, but that instinct kept nagging at him. Goodness knew he was almost always right—

They reached the yellow speck, which turned out to be attached to a black lump…a familiar black lump.

"Malfoy!" Hermione exclaimed. A quick glance could have told anybody he was unconscious. Harry bent down and touched his neck with his fingers to check his vitals.

"We have to take him to the hospital ward immediately," Harry told Hermione. She looked a bit scared, but nodded vigorously. As Harry hefted him up on his back, his eyes darted around, trying to find any shadows or enemies through the sheet of rain.

But what he would have never figured out was that the enemy was any he could see. That evening was the start of something, the start of something real.

At least, for their sake, let us hope it is.

(End Chap. 34)

Me: Well? How was it? If you're cheering, then I have bigger good news for you! On Friday, we here at "Black and Deep Desires" will be celebrating our Official One-Year Anniversary! And in honor of that, the subject matter of Chapter Thirty-Five is ENTIRELY UP TO YOU! Go now to the Black and Deep Desires Forum on FF.N and tell me what you want!

Harry: March tenth? Has it been this long already?

Plushie: You know what this means. Time to reminisce and get drunk while doing so! (jumps for joy, along he can't do it real high since he's got weak plushie legs)

Me: See you, the results of your votes, and all the good times in Chapter 35!


	35. Sympathetic Or Otherwise

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: Thank you, everyone, for a great year here at Black and Deep Desires. _And what a year it's been!_ You can go to our forum and talk about your favorite chapters, moments in the fic, even your favorite muse! (I bet it's Plushie, isn't it?) Anyway, I am totally, honestly, really, really, really, very, totally, immensely sorry for the _HUGE_ delay in bringing Chapter 35 to you. I will NEVER DO THAT AGAIN! (bows at your feet) Many things have happened in the past three months, among them a total writer's block. For another…

(A boatload of confetti drops down, and I put on a graduation cap.)

Me: I AM FINALLY FREE! FREE FROM THE SHACKLES OF COMPULSORY EDUCATION! FREE FROM THE LOCKERS AND BOOKS AND EARLY-AS-HELL MORNINGS! My friends, _I HAVE GRADUATED FROM HIGH SCHOOL!_

All muses: (clap, but are now worried for my sanity)

Me: Anyway, I don't expect to go to college until the following January of next year. Even then, this is VERY good news for all my readers. I get more free time; they get more chapters—faster this time! (Readers cheer in ecstasy.) I've seen your votes; I've heard your reviews. And so the call will finally be answered! ROLLING! (clicks remote)

Note: Snape is regular type; Lucius is in italics.

Note Two: There's also a new forum topic up! The subject: "Your Favorite Quote From the Fic Thus Far and Why?"

(Begin Chap. 35)

…As the evening began to envelop the Scottish countryside, shadows began to overtake the numerous hallways and stairwells of Hogwarts…which just went to show that even natural phenomena could have some sort of connection to people's emotions. Draco's situation seemed to be getting worse by the day, and now he was in the hospital ward for the second time in two months. Ron, despite continuing encouragement from Hermione, was still withholding his secret rendezvous from Harry. Hermione herself wasn't sure if she should break her confidentiality with Ron. Harry's trust in the both of them was heading towards a downward spiral. It was an unsafe web, the strings growing tighter with each incident.

On this night, a few more strings were added, thanks to Professor Snape.

We've taken note since Harry's fifth year that Snape was exceptional when it came to the arts of Occlumency and Legilimency. I ask you to also remember his odd behavior when Professor Mills first arrived at Hogwarts. Let's see how this returns to Lucius Malfoy.

After he made his rounds to ensure that the Potions storeroom was locked and the Slytherins were at least pretending to be asleep, Snape went straight to his bedchambers, which as I've said before is adjacent to his office. So much was out of harmony with the same old song: Draco's frequent visits to the hospital ward, Potter and his friends barely speaking to each other, the Memory Charm incident with the house-elf and the attack on Granger about a month ago, Narcissa Malfoy's death and Lucius's strange reaction. Speaking of which, where _did_ Weasley come into the picture?

Snape stared intently into the flames of the candles standing on the top of his desk as they made their futile attempts to banish the darkness from the small room. Sending an owl would be too dangerous at the moment, not to mention it would take too long. But he had to contact his former comrade somehow. He decided, against his good judgment, to use Legilimency. His face in a thoughtful-looking grip using his thumbs and forefingers, his dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Lucius…where in blazes are you?"

…Miles away, in the mansion near the town of Wilshire, the stern blond wizard was also sitting at a desk in his study, continuing to go over a couple of documents. There had been at least two more mass meetings with the Death Eaters since Ron's departure, and from the dissatisfied tone of the Dark Lord's voice ("dissatisfied" being an understatement), Draco's mission wasn't progressing as it should. Their long-time spy at Hogwarts hadn't seen any further development in Harry's behavior other than the fact that he wasn't speaking to either Ron and Hermione, and that was Ron's own fault for being skittish with his secret concerning Lucius. On the other hand, Voldemort hadn't rushed the procedure, only giving warning for the spy to further monitor Draco's actions. He didn't seem worried in the least…

And yet again, an exposed secret that should have sent him to his death immediately was responsible for putting him in an even worse fate. He couldn't even see the parchments in front of him, he was so worried.

Was Ron really this important to him?

Suddenly, a slight pain attacked him in the back of his head. Lucius growled and held his forehead in his hand. Speak of the devil.

…"Lucius, I must speak with you."

"_You are aware that this is gross misconduct, Severus. You're our vital—not to mention our only—connection to Hogwarts. Any—_"

"Any unauthorized and unnecessary communication will be severely punished," Snape recited in what sounded to Lucius as a bored tone. "Yes I know, but this takes priority over any remote worry I have of disobeying the Dark Lord's word. The first of my concerns is that your son is in the hospital ward again."

"_Again?_"

"I decided to tell you first this time around. My guess is it's the stress of this mission…among other things."

"_Among what other things?_"

"I'm not exactly sure myself. Surely his mother's death and Weasley's newfound inheritance is a factor. But there are other possibilities. For one, the Malefecium Elixir itself is a huge risk. It hasn't been completed successfully in centuries. Who's to say it doesn't have adverse effects?"

"_I'll make sure to ask Callisto about it._"

"Now, secondly and most important, there is the matter of Weasley I've wanted to discuss since Narcissa's passing. I probably won't escape from this conversation unscathed, but do you think you owe me an explanation as well? If this is anything that will compromise our plans, then abandon all hope you have of sidestepping your duties."

"_I already have._"

"Say again?"

"_To answer your first question, yes, I have some…emotions for Ron._"

"…Please tell me I was mistaken in hearing you call Weasley by his first name."

"_No you weren't_," Lucius thought in irritation. A second later his words softened.

"_It no longer does me any good to regard him as an unfamiliar object. We are much closer than you think, Severus—much closer. In that short moment of frustration and conflict after my wife's death, I felt unashamed to make sure our tie would never be broken. In some way, I thought that the best means for him to do so was for him to take Narcissa's place…at least, as my inheritor. I wasn't sidestepping my duties; I was adding one more to my list. Unfortunately all that's turned against me, none of which would have happened if Bellatrix knew how to mind her own._"

"Where is this accusation coming from?"

"_For a short while Callisto had to leave to tend to other matters. During that time he sent me a letter counseling me on what to do about Ron. Somehow the letter got into the wrong hands…Bellatrix's hands. Knowing already how desperately she aspires to stay on Voldemort's good graces, and how much she's hated me since Narcissa and I married, you would think you knew what happened next._"

In all truth, Snape was a little frightened to make that guess. So, as usual, he expressed it through his trademarked sarcasm the best he could.

"If I'm correct, then how are you still alive, let alone talking to me?"

"_Because you aren't. What's worse, Bellatrix enlisted the help of Pettigrew. I don't know how they did it, and I don't think I care to know. Either way I'm now forced to prove to Lord Voldemort that this is nothing but a sham to further his power. We both are already aware of Potter's current foul mood towards Ron. He runs to me during Christmas holiday, and I play the game further. Divide and conquer, it's that simple._"

Snape noted the poorly-hidden misery in his voice, and there was a prolonged silence.

"You didn't expect this to end happily, did you?" he finally asked, starting to tire of this new, sentimental Lucius Malfoy. "We signed away our freedom the second Voldemort branded the Dark Mark on our arms. Your destiny is his destiny now. You've seen what happens to the fools who try and chase their own dreams. You heard of Karkaroff's fate. And why Weasley? You could have your choice of many others, many better."

"…_It's something I cannot exactly explain. Perhaps, when he was here, he dared me to ask myself questions I'd been too arrogant to ask. Do you remember what I was like before I married, Severus?_"

A dry chuckle. "There were two of you, if I must be honest. One nearly worked himself to an early death trying to live up to the Malfoy name. The other one was much happier, doing as he wished when he was attending Hogwarts, all the while still holding his noble airs. When you married Narcissa, however, the obedient side won over. Even after, your personalities constantly fought each other. Always deceiving, always charming, you eventually gained more than what you could ever ask for."

"_Almost. For as long as I stayed with Narcissa, there was one thing I could never have. Only now have I fully come to realize that I've been neglecting my own needs. Ron fulfills that longing._"

"Would you be willing to betray the Dark Lord in the process?"

"_I have no desire to die, and I have no desire to give up what is rightfully mine. I still share Voldemort's views; I just do not think I have to be a total slave to his will in order to make that happen. Destiny or not, whatever the outcome is meant to be, I will have Ron by my side._"

…October 23rd.

Draco left the hospital ward after only a day, but to defeat the purpose of recovery, he came out worse than when he went in. He avoided Blaise all together, and at first that posed a problem. He shared nearly every class with him, not to mention the same dormitory. One time he even felt prone to snap at Pansy Parkinson when she tried to offer her services, which only spelled trouble for the rest of the school. (Pansy was a complete nightmare when she was depressed.) Either way it went, Draco now had even less of a desire to run to Potter.

Ron, on the other hand, wanted to talk to Blaise as soon as possible. Blaise had been trying to avoid him lately, but Ron wasn't standing for it anymore.

It was the first minutes of dinner, so only a few students and teachers were in the Great Hall (Professor Mills was always the last to come, saying that she always had to perform quite a few spiritual vigils so she could get to bed at a timely hour). Usually Blaise had no fear of coming to dinner early. Despite the fact that he loved to eat, Ron almost always came a little later with his friends. But Blaise didn't count on tonight.

Not only did Ron come early, he came in through the other set of double doors—on Slytherin's side. By pure instinct Blaise looked up and blanched. He had no intention of jumping up and running away in public, even if there were only a few people around him—a Zabini never avoided a confrontation. But, deep in his chest, there arose the feeling which told him there was nothing else he'd rather do. The blue fire that was in Draco's eyes a couple of days ago had now jumped to Ron's. He marched right up and crossed his arms.

"There you are, you sniveling git. Where do you get off playing around with me like that?" he snapped loudly, making two Ravenclaws behind him jump in their seats.

"Listen to me. Nothing personal, Ron; it was for Draco's sake," Blaise answered coolly.

"_Nothing personal!_ You made out with me just to make some ex-boyfriend jealous! Like hell it wasn't personal! I don't like Malfoy, and I never will, but even I know that what you did didn't do him a damn bit of good. What'd you _think_ would happen?"

Blaise looked around and leaned in closer, his eyebrows now wrinkled in fierce concentration.

"Look, Draco isn't going to admit this himself, but there's a friend of yours he likes."

The redhead's eyes grew to near-gigantic proportions, and Blaise took it as a good sign. He had his full attention.

"_Who?_" Ron choked out.

"I can't exactly say, but if Draco doesn't stop obeying the wrong people the person he really loves is going to die soon," explained Blaise in earnest. "The only reason I went through with that damned ridiculous plan was to save Draco and that other person. Needless to say it didn't work…my own bloody fault."

This certainly took the edge off of Ron's anger. He didn't know what to think. As Blaise admitted, it was a stupid plan when one glanced at it in the long run, but it was for a good reason. And what "wrong people" was he talking about? His father? You-Know-Who?

"Zabini, if one of my friends is in danger, I gotta know what's going on," Ron pleaded. Blaise looked up at him in sympathy. There were many things he was going to put in danger by disclosing this information, among them his own life. But Draco would always matter to him even more. Besides, who said he couldn't pass his Pensieve test twice?

"After dinner, on the third floor. Meet me there."

…10:03 p.m.

In a lonely corridor hidden within the dungeons, Professor Snape was conducting his last inventory check of the day in his storeroom. It seemed like with each passing year, his storeroom was increasingly getting broken into. An extra step of prevention surely didn't hurt.

He was stepping down from the ladder when he heard a soft sound. He climbed off and stared out past the doorway. Uniquely-shaped shadows, created by the torches on the damp stone walls, flickered and changed with the rhythm of the cold drafts. Aside from that, though, there wasn't anyone there. Snape dismissed it as paranoia and walked out of the storeroom, closing and locking the door behind him.

The sound echoed again. There was no mistaking it. Someone was watching him—again.

"Good evening, Severus."

Snape turned and saw the all-too-familiar flash of reddish-auburn hair. Professor Mills was about four feet away, yet she could still burn a hole through him with her intense, violet eyes.

"What business do you have in the dungeons?" he demanded icily.

"As it so happens, it's my turn to assist Filch and the Aurors with patrolling the halls," she replied with a warm smile. "You know all the teachers have been taking turns with security—by the way, your turn will be approximately a week from now."

(Let it be on the record that there was no set schedule, and that the teachers were chosen at random.)

"Since that incident with Miss Granger, none of us can take chances anymore. For instance, your regular checks on your potions ingredients. All those thefts would give any self-respecting Potions professor a scare."

"I suspect you came here for more than talking."

"Always the practical one, aren't you Severus? Well, if you must know, it was fate that finally gave me a chance to come down here with a valid excuse. I should have come to you much earlier, though. I honestly don't know why you have to be so twitchy around me"—and suddenly her eyes narrowed and ceased to sparkle—"I'll allow you to finish what Voldemort sent you here to do. I have my own assignment to finish."

"The only reason I feel uncomfortable around you is because you can break through an Occlumens, and you'd have no trouble using anything against me. And furthermore, I don't need your consent. I had been given this position by both Voldemort's ingenuity and Dumbledore's shortsightedness. You just worry about the Order."

Umira let out an exasperated sigh. "Of course I am. For Merlin's sake, Severus, we hold the same standing in our master's eyes. I'll admit, you're more adept at this than I, but I'm sure I can hold my own. But, speaking personally for a moment, can you inform me as to why Draco is slow in carrying out his mission, and yet Voldemort hasn't said anything?"

She raised her eyebrow, and Snape actually stepped back for a moment.

"It isn't like him to act this way. He has a hidden agenda."

"Those were my suspicions as well. Unfortunately I am not aware of his true plans, so I couldn't tell you."

"You don't need to. It took me a long time to perform it successfully…there were too many energies at work. But I've finally got the ghosts off of my back and went to the cards. I know you have no respect for Divination—"

"I have no respect for Sybill Trelawney. You, on the other hand, are a true Seer. You can stop being humble; what did the cards reveal?"

"It was certainly a reading I won't forget. I did it from Draco's perspective to get the most out of it, and usually I just get three, and I ended up with nine! First I turned up with the Hanged Man, the Knight of Cups, and the Lovers—all reversed. Then I went in-depth to see what the Lovers card referred to. Got King of Wands, Two of Cups, and the Star reversed. To put it in words: 'Draco is blindly following orders, ignoring his own personal needs and what he knows is right. The problem is further compounded by the fact that his master has deceitful intentions. This will result in the loss of a love.' This love was represented by the King of Wands—a dark-haired hero who wields both awesome power and deep compassion—"

"It wouldn't be…," Snape started to say. Umira grinned deviously.

"The Two of Cups indicated that they would be a perfect match. However, the reversed Star says that Draco's been taught to forsake the emotions of his heart in the name of tradition."

"And the last three cards?"

"The Sun reversed, the Chariot, and the High Priestess. 'Despite immediate complications, light may certainly come from this situation, but only through the bold actions of a woman. Specifically, the High Priestess represents—"

"A female Seer?"

Umira looked at him knowingly. "You're beginning to catch on."

"I hope you won't be too bold," Snape warned. "Voldemort hates deviants. Just a couple of days ago I had to warn Lucius of the same exact thing."

"Severus, I'm a double spy. Finesse has always been at the core of my success."

(End Chap. 35)

All: (gasp VERY loudly)

Me: And so the secret has been revealed!

Harry: I _trusted_ that woman!

Me: For a three-month break, I hope I satisfied my fans...or lack thereof, since I took so damn long. Again, I apologize. I'll just have to get my swing back after not writing for so long. See ya in Chapter 36, everyone!


	36. Concerns

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: (checks a random calendar hanging on a random wall in the B&DD Theater) Hey guys! Has it really been two months since I've updated?

All 5: (nod solemnly)

Me: And did we not also promise that we wouldn't do prolonged pauses between chapter updates anymore ever since the horrid delay in bringing them Chapter Thirty-Five?

All 5: (nod solemnly again)

Me: Then we're really bad at making promises. Looks like I'll have to prostrate myself in front of my faithful viewers YET AGAIN because of lack of inspiration.

Plushie: The Good Doc had no idea where to pick up from the last chapter, and so we've spent two months trying to figure out how to further please our readers…or getting drunk. Tomayto, tomahto.

Ron: We'd like to give two shoutouts today. The first is to Piddlin (I think that's how it's spelled) for adding the story "Black and Deep Desires" to the C2 Archive "_Notable Harry Potter Slash_". It's a great honor! The second is to the Good Doc herself, because…(even MORE mysterious confetti and streamers drops down)…it's her birthday on August ninth!

Lucius: How old?

Me (with a party hat on): Old enough to drink and just barely get away with it! Anyway, let bygones be bygones and enjoy this new chapter. Rolling! (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 36)

…_My worst fear…will it really come true? Ron's been acting way too suspicious lately, and Hermione isn't doing much either. The attack on her a few weeks ago, Draco's Howler, Mrs. Malfoy's death, Ron hanging around with Slytherins…that letter from Mr. Malfoy…and how in hell did he pass his Defense Against the Dark Arts test? I didn't think he could pass anything like that, especially after what Professor Mills said. What in the world's going on?_

Harry glared at the parchment in front of him, tapping the tip of his dry feather pen onto the table. It had been dry of ink for quite a few minutes now. He was sitting at a low oak table in the common room attempting to finish a Transfiguration essay Professor McGonagall had assigned just this morning. Were it not NEWT-level work, he would have been able to dedicate a little more time to his restless thoughts, among them another Quidditch practice he had scheduled for this afternoon. Yet another game against Slytherin was lurking around the corner and it didn't do any good to be any more frustrated; might as well take advantage of the breaks.

There were others in the common room, but not too many…mostly underclassmen. Hermione wasn't among them. Her O.W.L results and her ensuing choice in class schedule didn't allow for breaks. Most likely she went to her favorite study area—the library.

All the sunlight that could possibly fit through the narrow windows in the common room was doing so. Despite it being the week before Halloween, it was the kind of day no student should have been spending inside. But a desperate want of freedom wasn't what was bothering him.

He hadn't seen much of Ron today; not since last night, anyway. He had entered the dormitory later than usual, depressed as hell—again. Actually listening to his better judgments this time, Harry decided to let him fall straight to sleep. Ironically, Harry couldn't. At all.

Leaning back in the chair, he glanced toward the windows with apathy. It was a Thursday afternoon, almost going on four. The rhythm of the day was about to change from mind-numbing Transfiguration to the always-unpredictable Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Mills had long since moved the class to learning non-verbal spells, as well as a few unorthodox jinxes. She promised they would begin Occlumency after Christmas holiday, and to quote her, "Occlumency isn't going to be a dance with the fairies. Learning the basics of the craft will be harder on your minds and bodies than any load of homework Professor McGonagall can give you." A faint smile crept onto the raven-haired boy's lips. While revolutionary in her thinking, Professor Mills was exactly the person Harry had envisioned teaching NEWT-level Defense Against the Dark Arts.

She was someone he could follow, someone he could trust…right?

…"Mr. Potter."

Harry drowsily raised his head. Murmurs and giggling buzzed in his ears. Blurred at first, he adjusted his crooked glasses, and a view of Professor Mills' cloak materialized before him. She had her back to him, but she and everyone else knew he had been sleeping.

"I see getting rest at night isn't your forte. All this worrying's going to be the death of you if Voldemort doesn't get to you first," she advised. "However, I must ask that you pay attention." She paused, allowing some students to shudder. Unlike the other teachers Professor Mills wasn't afraid to say the Dark Lord's name; she insisted on doing so for obvious reasons.

Harry vigorously rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and finger and looked down at the open textbook he was laying on. The smallest of wet spots had smeared an ink line on a diagram…only then did he snap to attention and fully realize what he had done. He had been sleeping! In Defense Against the Dark Arts class! He turned to his left and saw Hermione stare at him with her too-often motherly concern. Ron gave him a fleeting glance of surprise. He glared in the direction of the loudest snigger and wasn't at all surprised to find out it was Malfoy. A second later Professor Mills joined him in his glaring.

"And if it isn't the expert on skipping my class. I suppose you believe sleeping is less forgivable than being in two comas in one month."

Again she was able to shut Draco up, and the class continued with their lesson. Harry squirmed a little from embarrassment in his seat and glued his eyes to the book, ignoring any feelings of tiredness. He firmly assured himself he wouldn't drop off again…

Twenty minutes later, Professor Mills sternly tapped him on the forehead with her wand, and he jumped up again, nearly dropping his textbook.

"Mr. Potter, you have fifteen minutes left. I think you can hold out until then."

Harry blushed and straightened his posture as best as he could, only to slouch again three minutes later. Those mere fifteen minutes seemed to crawl across the continuum of time and space, tormenting and enticing him to doze off a third time. Luckily he didn't give in so easily this time. By the time Professor Mills called an end to the class, Harry's eyelids were raw from resisting sleep. Unfortunately, even she couldn't let him off that easily. When over half of the class emptied out of the class, she called him to her desk. Hermione had a wary look on her face, as if it was apparent he was going to get it. Professor Mills was nice, but not _that_ nice.

When the room was completely silent, Harry reluctantly stood in front of her desk. The stark-black Pensieve was still sitting in a corner of her desk, the pearly liquid continually swirling. Yet again, she didn't say anything right away, but what she did after that moment of silence was even more unexpected.

She stood up and said, "Would you like some tea, Potter?"

Harry blinked. "Huh?"

"Would. You. Like. Some. Tea?" Mills repeated deliberately.

"Er…yes."

Smiling, she beckoned him into her office, which was in the same place the office had always been—up a spiral staircase. However, the inside looked radically different. Incense sticks stood in different-shaped glass jars all over the room. An amethyst-colored crystal ball rested on an ornate, silver stand in the corner, the bookshelves filled with all different kinds of books, their subjects ranging from palmistry to the most heinous enchantments in the realm of the Dark Arts. Everything down to the bed sheets was either purple, dark blue, forest green, or black. On the low wooden nightstand were two identical cups of tea. Mills walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, summoning a chair from across the room with a swing of her wand. Harry sat down and immediately yawned.

"If this tea doesn't wake you up, nothing will. It's a mixture of my own: ginseng, three squeezes of strawberry, three squeezes of orange, and three lumps of sugar. Intervals of three are a very powerful thing—you should know that from Numerology," she said, handing him one of the cups.

"What do you call it?" Harry asked.

"I don't really have a name for it…anyway, you probably think I'm more insane than you already do, offering you tea instead of punishing you for sleeping during lessons, but I'm sure you already know that I know what you're concerned about, and I can easily sympathize," she said.

"Ron."

Mills nodded.

"If all this is going to affect you to the point where you're sleeping in the one class that determines your success as an Auror—"

"It wasn't just here," Harry admitted. "Flitwick, McGonagall, and Snape chewed me out."

"I see Severus was his usual charming self," she muttered, her gaze directed towards a fading red blemish on his scarred forehead. When Professor Snape caught Harry snoring softly over his pewter cauldron this morning, he didn't just tap him with his wand—he smacked his head on the desk. This incidentally caused his uncompleted potion to spill all over the stone floor. Harry was then harshly ordered to stay after, clean the floors dry, and do his potion over again. Draco's cheeks matched the bruise on his forehead by the time Potions was over. Harry winced at the fresh memory and put a hand to his scar.

"As I was saying, if you can't even get any sleep, then perhaps it's finally time to divulge some secrets and clear the air. If Mr. Weasley thinks he can handle this situation on his own, I can't protect him any longer."

"Thanks, Professor Mills, but wouldn't it be better if I found out on my own? This seems so—"

"Underhanded? Backstabbing? A total disregard towards my students' privacy?"

Silence.

"Let me pose another possibility. Let's assume your suspicions about Ron are right. What will you do then?"

More silence, and every now and again one of them took a sip of tea. He could clearly replay a predicted scene of his fury and anguish if everything turned out to be true, but he wouldn't know what to do afterwards. It was a wretched thing for the wizarding world's savior to admit, but every one of his encounters with dangers was improvised unless you counted the Triwizard Tournament…

"Besides, this can't be any more underhanded than when you took his letter."

Harry raised an eyebrow, and Professor Mills raised another one. Then he sighed in defeat.

"For just one second forget that we're student and teacher," she continued. "You might not have wanted to say anything out loud, but I can assure that you're correct. I am in fact working undercover for the Order. All the events the newspapers and you and Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy have linked to Ron—Mrs. Malfoy's murder, the Malefecium Elixir, that letter—was mostly, if not all, coincidental. He was simply into the wrong place at the wrong time…or right time, whichever way one is looking at it. Some of these things Alastor didn't want me telling you, but the Chosen One not knowing a lick about what his friends are up to isn't helping either."

"Professor Mills? What does Draco have to do with this?"

Mills waved her hand, dismissing the question. "First let's start from the beginning."

Harry nodded.

"Remember that it wasn't Ron's plan to associate with Lucius in the first place. Lucius was the one who took _him_ hostage. As Ron said, they had agreed on using him for temporary payment until the affairs with Callisto Zabini were settled. Now here's Horrible Coincidence Number One: just before Ron arrived at their home, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy decided to separate. The divorce wasn't legalized yet, and right up to Mrs. Malfoy's death it had yet to be. Horrible Coincidence Number Two: after Ron returns home and back to Hogwarts—in a foul mood, one might add—Mrs. Malfoy ends up murdered at the hands of Voldemort. What makes these all horrible coincidences? More coincidences."

Professor Mills paused again so that Harry could sink this in, and so she could decide what to say next.

"Do you remember what Ron's letter said?" she asked.

"Not off the top of my head, but I definitely got the feeling that there's something personal between him and Mr. Malfoy," Harry replied quietly.

"It was almost like fate, really," she suddenly declared. "They're two souls both searching for something to latch onto. Ron was looking for a way he could contribute to the effort to the war against Voldemort and for someone to simply notice that he was willing to give something. Certainly that would be a feat to accomplish, considering the company he keeps. Lucius, just losing his wife and being demoralized in the eyes of the public, was forced to question his purpose, as well as his reasons for his decisions. In the end, they were all futile, his marriage included. Each of them figured they could use the other for their own ends, and it worked…probably a little too well."

"What do you mean?"

"You tell me. The answers were always lying before your questions, just never willingly given by Weasley. Why the letters? Why the undone button on the tops of his shirts?"

_She can dig that deep into the past?_

"I can go as far back as the Burning Times if I wanted to. The fact of the matter, Harry, is that Lucius has become quite taken with your friend—and the feeling is mutual."

After she said that, Professor Mills knew Harry wouldn't have been more shocked if someone had come up to him and told him his parents were still alive and in hiding somewhere. Just about dropping his teacup, the green-eyed boy set it aside on the nightstand and shook his head in disbelief.

"Wha…I mean—how could…_why_?"

"Before you fly off the handle, Potter, keep two things in mind. You don't think Ron had his own doubts? The attraction was purely accidental…"

Abruptly she faltered. This was something even she wasn't sure of, but on that day, when she had called Ron, Harry, and Draco up to her desk before the Pensieve trials, as Ron tried to block her, she inadvertently broke through and uncovered one hell of a nightmarish memory…

"…Ron didn't mean for it to happen," she whispered to herself. Then she had to shake herself out of her senses.

"On the other side, the deteriorating relationship, or lack thereof, with Mrs. Malfoy opened up Lucius's eyes. He was once human, you know. He was once a Hogwarts student. He once had dreams and desires and urges like the rest of you kids. For purebloods and the devout followers of Voldemort, however, tradition and reputation is everything. They forsake their livelihoods, their souls. Lucius could very well be feeding some story to his master, explaining how the Death Eaters could benefit from this. The truth is, Ron fulfills those desires he's been hiding within himself for so long. There is no ploy. We hope there isn't, at least. The future _can_ change, after all."

"'He speaks the truth, fantastic though it sounds.'"

"And he does as far as I know. I'm aware it's my duty to keep you and everybody else safe from the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, and yet my intuition refuses to put my Inner Eye at rest. The question of whether we can take a gamble and whether you will let Ron follow his own heart is the real issue."

"Mr. Malfoy's never given me a reason to trust him," he replied bitterly.

Mills nodded. "I understand completely."

Another silent moment passed between them, and then Harry had another flash of insight.

"Professor Mills? Did you say you were here to investigate the Malefecium Elixir? Why would it be here at Hogwarts, and who has it?"

The redheaded woman exhaled deeply, her thoughts now turning to Draco Malfoy and his own personal issues.

"That, Harry, is another matter entirely…"

…Draco was walking through a fifth-floor corridor very slowly. He was well aware he had double Charms with the Hufflepuffs next; this was one of the reasons for his listless pace. Being in his least favorite class with the most wimpy and pretentious of the Hogwarts houses (according to him, anyway)…it was double-something, all right. But something more than apprehension was weighing down his legs.

When Defense Against the Dark Arts class was over, Professor Mills had called Harry up. His sleeplessness had been a fluke in his favor. No one would be suspicious. What was most assuring—or disconcerting—was that she had given him "the look". The plan was to be set in motion, then.

After not seeing any developments in weeks, Draco went to the only one who could help him: Professor Snape. At first Draco had protested having a watchdog monitor him on this mission, wanting to pull it off on his own, but apparently it was harder than he had initially thought, only worsening his hatred for Potter. Poor Romilda Vane had nearly torn her hair out trying to figure out why Harry was resistant to the "love potion", chalking it up to suffering yet another cruel joke at the hands of the school's most notorious Slytherin. Meanwhile Draco had been close to tearing his own hair out. The agreement was for him to slip him the Elixir by Christmas holiday, and it was almost November.

Here entered Snape, who had made a pact with Voldemort and Lucius to ensure his success at any cost. It was to Draco's great shock, though, to learn that Professor Mills wasn't everything she seemed to be. She appeared to be the sort of person he hated most: a member of the Order of the Phoenix, a hardcore contender of Voldemort and his devotees, Gryffindor-supportive (and subsequently a Slytherin-hater), someone who personally saw to Harry's survival in this time of disorder. Then again, it was just as Snape told him last night, "When balancing the trusts of both sides, one must be convincing and willing to play their role. Umbridge was much too noticeable."

_At any cost._ At least he'd receive his dues, and so he relinquished his dragon-bottle necklace to Snape, trusting he would deliver it.

One would think he'd be comforted by this. The problem was out of his hands now. His family would have nothing more to worry about…right?

But at what cost? Despite being close followers of Voldemort, the Malfoys always looked to see how every plot would benefit them, and this didn't benefit him in the least. Should he just follow in his father's footsteps and pursue his own desires as well?

Maybe…maybe he should have a talk with Professor Snape. He had to know something.

But first, he had to endure Professor Flitwick.

(End Chap. 36)

Me: I know, there's not much action here, but this was basically meant to be an informative chapter. After this things will move much, much faster. I don't care to dwell too much on November, it being so close to the coveted month of December. Now that Harry knows where the pieces lie, how will he pull them together? And what's the deal with emo-Draco?

Plushie (in the distance): Kim-chan! Get back here so you can get your birthday spankings!

Me: (runs) Oh, and one more thing! As I've said before, we have a forum on under the same name as the story! Make my day, visit there, and give me your feedback. What do you want to see next? What do you think of my fic so far? What do you hate about it? Let's uphold the spirit of community among the Lucius/Ron (L/R or LM/RW for all those who know LJ-speak) lovers.

Ron: Hey Plushie! Need the paddle?

Plushie: (snickers) Hey Weasley…you got wood.

Harry (standing next to Oliver): No he doesn't. I got Wood.

Me: Just another day at "Black and Deep Desires"…until Chapter 37!


	37. Trust Not No One

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: I know. Again I've delayed in bringing you the latest prime cut of "Black and Deep Desires". You must be thinking, "That damn quack. Why's she stalling when she's almost at the best part?!"

Lucius: That's what _I_ was thinking.

Me: (smacks him with a rolled-up newspaper)

Lucius: Why must you always be so rough? And where are you getting all these rolled-up newspapers?

Me: Suck it up, wuss. Anyway, I wouldn't be stalling if (1) I could get some inspiration, and (2) if some of my reviewers would stop complaining about the Harry/Draco. I thought that pairing was pretty much accepted by now, damn near canon. But I've been telling everyone, and I don't think I can stress it enough: _we'll get back to the Ron/Lucius when we GET BACK to the Ron/Lucius!_

All muses: (cower)

Me: (takes a swig of wine) I mean, if I can make Ron and Lucius work—a ship that's almost so illogical it would make a conspiracy theorist's head explode—then you can trust me with everything else. And you also wanted to see Professor Mills screw up to save her good name from being pinned up with all those other Mary-Sues? Oh, I guarantee she'll screw up. She'll screw up indeed…(laughs maniacally, then stops) By the way, I am also establishing myself as a fanfic writer in the Games section ("Kingdom Hearts" specifically) and packing up for college, so I'll be busier than ever, so I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause. (resumes laughing maniacally)

All muses: (cower again)

Draco: At least the Doc hasn't changed. She's just as crazy as ever.

Plushie: What she needs is some more drinky-drink…and more reviews! Y'all know the drill. Rolling! (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 37)

…The ceiling was dark…too dark. It was nothing but an endless, frightening void. It looked like that one secret place in the universe where if someone searched deep enough, they would find the answers to all the deepest questions in life. Only someone with more than their share of troubles would spin such a crazy imagining out of something as simple as a dormitory ceiling at night.

Draco Malfoy was that certain someone.

It was nearly midnight and he still couldn't sleep. Who could blame him? But what was done had been done; there was no point in turning back time. Then again, right now it was the one thing in the world he wished he had the power to do. Professor Snape was no help either. Looking back, Draco didn't even know why he had sought his help in the first place. He was in his forties, and more than a little stoic. All his life had been dedicated to the mysteries of potion-making, then later to his loyalty to the Dark Lord. What did he know about teenage love? Well, he hadn't told him any specifics; merely that he was having second thoughts about this mission. The way he had responded, though…Draco might as well have told him he had started to develop feelings for Harry.

But Draco had a stone-solid rebuttal that, at first, even Snape couldn't argue with. What possible obligations towards Voldemort did he have? A dead mother, a father gone astray, and an overwhelming fear for his life?

Then, as if learning of Professor Mills' double-crossing wasn't enough of a shock, Snape had been forced to explain to him the true objective behind Lucius's relationship with Ron—"Though I'm not a complete fool; I'm certain Lucius has his personal reasons. I can only hope, when all is said and done, that you don't end up an orphan," the dour Potions master had muttered under his breath.

Now, to make things even more complicated, Draco wasn't even sure who to feel sorrier for: himself or Ron. Sure, it was only Weasley, but even what Draco revealed to the entire school that one afternoon didn't even come close to uncovering the true horrors that happened within the Malfoy Manor. Also…he wasn't sure if he could call it a true comparison, but it was almost like what had happened between him and Potter the first time they met. Come to expect a warm welcome and friendship (and possibly more), only to have it blow up in your face in the worst way. Then Potter could chalk up another reason not to trust him (Draco, that is, not Ron, although both were now on his bad side).

There had to be _some_ kind of advantage he could gain from this. His father couldn't be the only one who took away a reward from this ensuing disaster. After forcing him to break up with Blaise, he was well overdue for payback.

What did he already know about the Malefecium Elixir? Whoever drank it would turn against their friends in a matter of three months, right?

Friends…foes…

Draco sat bolt upright. What did that poem say again?

"_Enemies become friends, friends become foes, and then you will face life's terrible woes…_"

"If he's going to hate his friends, then…the opposite will happen, too," he whispered to himself.

The sensation he felt in his chest as he mouthed those words was indescribable: mostly immense relief, but also there was a tinge of anger. He should have thought of this before he nearly made himself half insane with worry and guilt and made so many stupid mistakes. He could complete the mission and get what he wanted…and maybe now he could get some sleep.

It couldn't have been more perfect.

…They—whoever those anonymous wise sages were—once said wishes don't come true right away. They also said that one must take the greatest care in exactly what they wish for.

At the arrival of November, these two absolute truths were tested, and like with most events that have happened thus far, the chains of events which set off the imminent disaster all started with a dream…

…_He didn't know exactly where or what he was standing in the middle of; it was nothing but an endless dark space. Suddenly, someone else appeared a few feet away from him. The stranger's back was turned to him at first, but as Harry stepped closer, it looked as if the person was startled by the noise of his footsteps. He turned around into the dim light, revealing his face._

"_Harry?"_

"_Ron?"_

_Out of nowhere the redheaded teenager smiled brightly. "So, are you coming?"_

"_Coming to where?"_

_Ron laughed softly. "Are you daft or what? My wedding's today, remember? You're my best man!"_

_Harry didn't know what to say, but as it turned out, he didn't have to say anything. Without waiting for an answer Ron walked back into the shadows. Harry tried to call out to him, but nothing would come out of his mouth. Suddenly, the shadows all around his disintegrated into nothingness, and him along with it. He was falling now, through endless space and darkness. He couldn't even see himself, it was so dark._

_After what seemed like an eternity, he finally landed on solid ground, and the next scene unfolded. He couldn't recognize the place, but wherever it was, it was beautiful. It was an old, secluded building. A chapel, perhaps? No…there were no pews. There were candles and flowers, but nothing too extravagant. It was a modest wedding ceremony…_

_Harry shook his head. Wait. Wedding? It couldn't be. He looked down at himself to see that he was wearing a plain black set of dress robes, almost like what he had worn to the Yule Ball. But the real matter of interest laid right in front of him. At the end of the aisle, a man cloaked in heavy gray robes stood before two others who were facing each other—Mr. Malfoy and Ron. They both were wearing dress robes: Malfoy in a stark black and forest green, and Ron all in a pearly white that nearly stole the show. Harry's eyes trailed down until they stopped at the pair's joined hands…_

_Harry nearly gasped out loud when he saw what Ron was wearing on one of his fingers—a ruby ring._

_The same one from his Pensieve test._

_He couldn't see the face of the stranger who was about to marry these two, but suddenly the person made a motion and turned his covered head towards Lucius._

"_Lucius Malfoy, do you take Ronald Weasley to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, 'til death do you part, for as long as you both shall live?"_

_Lucius smiled. "I do."_

_The stranger then turned his head the other way. "And do you, Ronald Weasley, take Lucius Malfoy to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, 'til death do you part, for as long as you both shall live?"_

"_I do."_

"_Then if no one here objects to this union—"_

_Well, there was no one else here besides Harry, but he did object. But he couldn't open his mouth. Inside he was screaming at all of them, but his lips were frozen in place. He couldn't move, either._

"—_by the power invested in me, by this the most ancient law of wizardkind—"_

_Hold on. The stranger's voice was changing pitch, and not for the better. It sounded…almost like a hissing, high-pitched, scratchy...kind of voice…_

"—_I now pronounce you united in matrimony."_

_The stranger finally moved his arm towards his hood to remove it._

_And Harry was scared to death at what he saw._

_That bald, sickly gray head…the flat, slit-like nostrils, those soulless red eyes, empty of all compassion and understanding…_

_Immediately his scar was cast into a pit of unforgiving fire he could not see, but it could certainly be felt. The invisible ice that had held him went away in an instant as Harry crumbled to the ground, screaming and clutching his forehead in pain._

"_Ah…Weasley…you may now kill Potter."_

_Harry twisted his head around, his green eyes bulging in terror. From his pocket Ron extracted his wand and pointed it straight at his best friend, stepping ever so closer…the green light…_

_The green light…_

"_Ron…!!"_

…Harry leaped up from the pillows, gasping for air. His sheets were soaked with sweat, his cheeks with tears. From a corner of the room, a light clicked on. Footsteps were coming closer to his bed…

"Harry? Harry!"

The curtain was snatched back, and the redhaired boy came into his vision. His face was full of concern. Harry couldn't see it. His mind played back the nightmare over and over before his eyes. Was he awake or asleep? Was this the same Ron he had known and trusted for over five years?

Slowly Ron reached up and touched his shoulder, shaking him slowly so he could get some sort of response from him.

"Harry, was it another vision? Harry, answer me! You're awake! Everything's all right!"

Gradually, Harry did stop gasping, but he stayed silent and wide-eyed, staring at Ron. His mind was confused. Was he truly awake? Could he trust Ron's words?

Could he trust Ron?

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, deep within him, a nerve snapped. He had felt this before. In fifth year, when he had been with Dumbledore, a sudden, incontrollable rage welled up inside him, an anger that didn't belong to him. That anger had belonged to Voldemort, and it was all for Dumbledore. He couldn't stand the sight of him…and now it was happening again.

But something was different. This anger…belonged entirely to him.

It was his own anger. The fury, the disappointment, the distrust…it was his, and it was all for Ron. It blinded him and shot through his body to his arms. His hands curled up, his arms raised. At the same time, Harry was afraid of himself. He couldn't control what he was doing. What was he going to do?

It didn't take long for his body to answer him.

Before Ron could do anything in defense, Harry's hands thrust forward and took hold of his throat. He threw the rest of Ron's body down onto the mattress and quickly sat on his chest so he had no way of escaping. Terrified beyond reason, Ron choked on his screams, writhing and trying to get away.

"_Tell me the truth! Tell me what happened, damn it! You work for them now, don't you? Malfoy and Voldemort and Pettigrew and all those other bastards! You're a traitor!! Admit it!!_" Harry screamed, his grip on his friend's throat growing tighter. Ron lifted his arms weakly and grabbed Harry's wrists, trying to break free, but he couldn't. Harry had somehow become inhumanely powerful. His muffled screams had dissolved into an indiscernible burble, but fortunately enough Harry had made enough noise by himself to wake the entire boys' dormitory. Dean, Seamus, and Neville all sat bolt upright and locked their eyes on the alarming scene. He didn't know who had gotten him first, but someone was brave enough to throw themselves onto Harry and drag him off of Ron. The redhead was finally able to take a deep breath, but it wasn't too long until Harry knocked Dean clear across the room and jumped back on him again, still screaming.

"_I don't want to, but if you force me I'll kill you!_"

Ron couldn't believe was he was hearing, that disbelief only growing by what Harry did next. He took off one of his hands and leaned back to grab his wand on the nightstand. Ron tried to take advantage of the situation and sit up, but he was smacked in the face by the back of Harry's arm. His maniacal friend sat on his chest again and put his forearm on his throat and shifted his entire weight on it, pressing on Ron's throat, the other hand pointing the wand two inches from his face.

"_I told you last time, Ron, if you double-crossed me…Didn't I tell you?_" Harry hissed.

This was it…Ron was losing consciousness…

He couldn't exactly see or understand or hear clearly of what happened next, but Ron was sure he heard McGonagall's voice…and some others' too. The unbearable weight was pulled off of him and stayed off, but he could still hear Harry's hysterical accusations, his voice drifting further away.

"_Get off of me! I have to finish him off! He knows something! He can't be trusted…!!_"

Ron continued to lie there in a daze, desperately trying to get oxygen back into his lungs. A multitude of blurry faces appeared above him, but they were immediately shooed away by McGonagall.

"Mr. Weasley? Mr. Weasley, are you all right?"

Ron struggled, but after a while, and apparently to the relief of everyone who was now in the room, he was finally able to sit up on the edge of the bed. He was shaking violently; now he was unsure of what was real. His vision cleared, and he looked around him. Just outside the door he could hear and see some of the other Gryffindors from the other dorms who had came out to see what had been going on. One in particular sounded _really_ adamant about getting in.

"Miss Granger…!"

"Please let me in!" Hermione pleaded, although in retrospect it hadn't been necessary: she already had both feet in the door. She rushed past McGonagall and kneeled right in front of Ron.

"Ron, what happened? What did Harry do to you?"

In an instant Ron snapped back to attention. What _did _Harry do to him? What just…?

The reality of it rushed forward and overwhelmed him. Ron took one final gasp…and dissolved into tears. He slumped forward into Hermione's arms, crying frantically all the while.

What on this earth just happened tonight?

(End Chap. 37)

Me: (punches Harry in the face)

Harry: (now out-cold)

Plushie: You know…I won't say anything. He deserved it this time.

Ron: (bawls loudly, and Lucius goes to hug him)

Lucius: First newspapers, and now choking and betrayal and traumatizing your muses—more than they need to? This is beneath even me! I'm reporting you for negligence and insanity!

Me: Hold on a minute! (two men in white coats come into the theater and drag me away)

Me: I'LL GET YOU, LUCIUS MALFOY! I'LL GET YOU YET…!! JUST TRY AND WRITE CHAPTER 38 WITHOUT ME!! (continues laughing maniacally)


	38. A Professor Scorned

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan...wait. Scratch that.

By: Lucius Malfoy, Ronald Weasley, Draco Malfoy, and Plushie

(Lucius, Ron, Draco, and Plushie are sitting in front of their boss's laptop, wondering exactly how to continue from the chaotic scene where Dr. Kim-chan left off…or to be more precise, Lucius is the one sitting and everyone else is standing around him, breathing down his damn neck…except for Plushie, because he can't exactly breathe—)

Draco: Oh, get on with it, Father!

(Right. I digress. If you're wondering where Dr. Kim-chan and Potter went, just refer to the ending commentary in the last chapter. It was actually quite amusing. Do you know how long I've wanted to do that to Potter? And it's rather nice to not have that crazy woman control my fate for once. She's made me do such horrible things to Ron in this atrocious story of hers. Well, I still have him by my side, and hopefully I will continue to have him beside me…and under me…and occasionally on top of me if I feel up to it—)

Ron: (blushing a bright red) As flattering as that is, we _really_ should continue.

Plushie: Boy, you guys do it in any position. (hops onto the desk) So what's your favorite position, Luci? Doggy-style? Missionary? Or does Ron just give you the good ol' Cleveland Steamer?

Draco: (turns green) I'd _REALLY_ rather not talk about my father's sex life.

Plushie: Well, I'm impressed. Still robbin' the cradle at his age? What is he, sixty-eight?

Lucius: (turns red) I'm forty-four, you insolent little rag doll! (picks up yet another rolled-up newspaper from nowhere and knocks Plushie off the desk) Anyway, we're past overdue for a somber chapter, so let's get to it.

(Substitute) Author's Note: Another Legilimency session between Snape and me, so, again, I am in italics and Snape is in regular type.

(Begin Chap. 38)

…Professor McGonagall was furious. At who was the big question.

First possibility: whatever plan Dumbledore and his new confidant had been up to and hiding behind the rest of the faculty's back ever since the incident with Granger had backfired in the worst way. Second possibility, and the theory McGonagall was most comfortable with: it had been an act of Voldemort and his forces, and unless the current investigation proved that it had been a sly trick not even the Aurors could have prevented, she could easily be angry with the Aurors for not doing their job.

But then there was the third possibility, and the one that terrified her the most. What if Harry Potter was truly losing touch with reality?

But then again…

She _did_ remember something else. Not too long ago, she, along with Dumbledore, Snape, Mills, Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy, had gathered to discuss the events surrounding the death of Mrs. Malfoy and had gotten much more than they bargained for. Apparently, from how the story looked, during the time Ron had been taken hostage by Lucius Malfoy, certain…_things_ happened. Exactly what those things were, they didn't know and they weren't sure it was for them to ever know. In any case, Mr. Malfoy suddenly thought so highly of Ron that he wrote him into his will just days after his wife's death. Considering what Lucius Malfoy was like, he wouldn't have done that in a thousand years. It was a very horrible thing to wonder, but maybe Ron _was_ associating with the wrong people. Whether it was forced or of his own will, though...McGonagall really didn't have the energy to handle one more mystery. What was important was what happened in the here and now: why did Harry attack Ron?

Fortunately, it seemed that Dumbledore was finally ready to give some answers.

The whole ugly affair had happened on a Thursday night. Because of the possibility of the presence of dark forces, curfew was going to be raised double for the next few nights, and tonight Dumbledore had scheduled a meeting with all the teachers in the Great Hall.

It was between classes now, and the next class would be her last before lunch.

She didn't know if she could stand the wait.

…"You won't believe this—!"

"Potter's gone mad? What're you talking about?"

"He tried to kill Ron Weasley last night! Nearly choked him to death!"

"I heard he even almost used an Unforgivable Curse on him. The worst one! The Killing Curse!"

"Oh my God!"

"I haven't seen Weasley all morning. I hope he's okay."

"Where's Harry now?"

"From what I heard, they took him to St. Mungo's…this is just unbelievable."

"You think it was You-Know-Who…?"

There wasn't anyone who wasn't talking about the events of last night. In classes, in the hallways, the Great Hall, on the Astronomy Tower, on the Quidditch Pitch...the whispering was everywhere. It was inescapable. This in mind, it was nothing short of idiotic to think Professor Snape _hadn't_ heard of it. In a certain perspective it was a good thing. For one, this was exactly what Voldemort had been waiting for. Everyone could easily say it wasn't his fault, but it wouldn't stop them from alienating Harry. Once that happened, all hope was lost.

Secondly, this was the perfect excuse to talk to Lucius again. No particular reason had been given as to why, but Snape couldn't just contact Voldemort directly. All information coming from Hogwarts (i.e., Snape) had to be transferred via a mediator (i.e., Lucius). Umira was on a separate mission entirely. What it was, he didn't have a clue.

That evening, an hour before the emergency teachers' meeting was set to begin, Snape was sitting in his personal chambers again, with nothing on the desk to distract him except for the two candles burning in their brass holders. Interlocking his fingers and tucking his chin into them, he tapped into his own mind and used his Legilimency skills to reach Lucius Malfoy. A silent moment passed, and then…

"_Severus? For God's sakes, I was asleep._"

"This early? You really should do something more constructive with your spare time."

"_Did you contact me to give a report or to give me useless career advice?_"

"Actually, there is something you should know—something Voldemort should know. The Malefecium Elixir has finally taken effect, though it's happened much sooner than we expected. Maybe all we're doing is manifesting and intensifying Potter's own suspicions, and if that's the case, we're just wasting our time."

"_Won't he be pleased? Can you tell us of any specifics?_"

"Only from what McGonagall told me, and we've tried to ask Weasley as well, but—"

"_Weasley?_"

"Apparently Potter attacked Weasley in the middle of the night. Judging from the bruises on Weasley's neck he tried to strangle him, but the other three who sleep in that dormitory also told us Potter tried to use his wand…most likely attempting to execute the Killing Curse."

What happened next was unsettling. Snape's mind turned completely quiet, as if someone had turned down the dial on a radio. Lucius didn't "say" anything for almost five minutes. Snape knew what was going on. Although not as advanced in the art as him, Lucius was also talented in Occlumency and Legilimency, and he had just temporarily clouded his mind, probably to think. Was he in shock? After a while Snape was just about to try and reconnect with him when Lucius did it first, but only to proceed to nearly give him a heart attack.

"_Where are they keeping Potter at the moment?_" Lucius demanded.

"It took Dumbledore and the entire team of Aurors to restrain him and transport him to St. Mungo's. Keeping him in the hospital ward would have only asked for trouble."

"_And Ron?_"

"Weasley spent the whole day in the hospital ward. Understandably, he's completely traumatized. He hasn't been to classes and he'll see or speak to no one, not even Miss Granger."

"…_I'm coming up there._"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"_You know as well as I that we have just been granted an opportunity we cannot afford to pass up…another one separate from what we hope to accomplish with Potter. I'll inform His Lordship about this latest development, speak to him about the necessary arrangements, and I'll be arriving at Hogwarts tomorrow afternoon._"

"_We've _been granted an opportunity? I'm sure you actually meant yourself. There's no need to be discreet. This is just an excuse to further your own agenda."

"_I don't believe it's your business if it is_."

"Everything you've worked for and accomplished, and you're sacrificing all of that for the affections of a sixteen-year-old boy, the one person who's closest to Potter! If you get in over your head, he won't hesitate in murdering you! I have more than enough reason to make this my business!"

"_What I've accomplished? I've accomplished nothing. From the day I married Narcissa I've never known a moment of happiness. I've told you before—I don't care what happens in the end. Even if I must die at the hands of my fellow Death Eaters or Voldemort himself, I hope Weasley gets a mind to follow me to the grave. All that Voldemort desires is for the world to recognize his power. As long as Potter and the current regime in the Ministry are out of the way, I doubt he'd care less about the company I keep. Besides, I can make this work in our favor; it's not as if I'm abandoning the Death Eaters._"

"I'm not so sure. Ever since you took Weasley hostage this summer, you've become a different man—"

"_And you're wrong once again. I'm not changing; I'm remembering what I once was. You seem to have overlooked one crucial detail_."

"And what, may I ask, is that?"

"_I never once said I loved Ron. That's too strong a word. Feelings, urges, a desire…call it what you like, but I am keeping emotions out of this._"

"You don't have to say you love Weasley. You're saying it with your actions, not your words. My concern is that all of this is going to cloud your good judgment, and maybe then you'll get a mind to defect from the group."

"_Then if you're so concerned, betray me._"

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Snape was absolutely furious. "And just what in hell are you insinuating?"

"_Isn't that common policy among us? If any of us feels one of our own is a threat to Voldemort or the other Death Eaters, they're reported, hunted down, and killed, lest they cross over to the Ministry and reveal any vital information that could be used against our master. So if you're truly that worried, Severus, betray me. I'm not worried. I have nothing else to live for._"

An extremely tense moment passed, Snape staring absentmindedly into the flames. Then, suddenly, he himself did something unexpected.

He chuckled.

"You honestly think I would stoop that low? That's something you'd expect from a sniveling wimp like Pettigrew. No, Lucius, rest assured you can dig your own grave on this one. The faculty is having a meeting shortly about these recent events. I could inform them of your arrival."

"_No. Most likely they'll question you as to how you found out. I'll have an advantage by coming on such short notice, anyway. I announce my coming, and that will only give them time to try and stop me._"

"Not that they don't have reason enough already, what with you having to resign as a school governor and your recent incarceration, and rumors flying about that Potter's attack was caused by Lord Voldemort. Besides, it's no longer a secret—not really. When we told Draco of his mother's death and you changing your will—"

"_So who suspects something between me and Ron?_"

"I was the first to say so, although Dumbledore had that look in his eye. Umira _has_ to know. She'a Seer and she's been working intensively with the inner thoughts and fears of the students. Not only does McGonagall know, but she's on a personal crusade to stop it."

This elicited a dry chuckle from Lucius.

"_They can believe whatever they like, but they aren't going to stop me. Will you accuse me of betrayal if I admit that part of the reason I'm coming is because I'm worried about Weasley? After all, he was almost killed by who he believed to be his closest friend for most of his life. Besides, you say no one can convince him to leave the hospital wing? They'll only be too grateful to have me there…_"

…A quarter of an hour later, Professor Snape was seated at the Head Table with all of the other faculty members, but in a different position. Additional chairs had been placed on the other side of the table so that everyone could be facing each other out of courtesy. At the end of the table was Dumbledore. The closest two on either side was reserved for the Heads of Houses: Sprout, Flitwick, McGonagall, and Snape. After that were Hagrid and the other teachers, Filch, and Auror task force. To save up on space, Professor Binns had agreed to float in midair. Dumbledore didn't have a chair, either; he didn't expect the meeting to last long.

"We know why we're here, but to anyone who is confused, I will present the problem at hand. Last night, at around one in the morning, Professor McGonagall was called in to the Gryffindor boys' dormitory on a disturbance. As it so happened, the disturbance was between Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. From what we can understand, and although the cause is still unknown to us, Mr. Potter suffered a delusional fit which caused him to attack Mr. Weasley…even threaten his life."

Quiet murmurs began circling around the table, and the smallest of sniffles could be heard from Hagrid. He had found out when Hermione came down to his hut that morning in tears and told him the whole story.

"There has been strong speculation that this was an attack or diversion brought on by You-Know-Who himself, and to a point I cannot deny it. But I believe there was another cause for this—" That immediately shut everyone up "—a cause that Professor Umira Mills should know."

On cue, the redheaded Seer stood up.

"To fully have an understanding of the situation, it's imperative that we think back to the recent events of this past July. Of course I'm speaking of the hostage situation involving Ronald Weasley following the Diagon Alley raid. Cornelius Fudge versus Lucius Malfoy, that's how the Daily Prophet made it out to be. The reality was far less romantic, albeit a bit suspicious. All Mr. Malfoy wanted in return was ransom money, and of course we know that's not how the Death Eaters do business," Umira explained, "and just because we got Weasley back didn't mean that was the end of it. The Ministry wanted to know exactly what that money was going towards. So, along with the Auror task force, I was also sent here, but for a more…clandestine operation."

"Did you have any knowledge of this, Albus?" McGonagall asked suspiciously, though she knew what the answer would be.

"Yes."

"Well, why didn't you tell us?"

"What was there to tell?" he replied simply, shrugging his shoulders. "It was meant to be a simple investigation, and Umira had little to go on. Now that we've seen their plan manifest, perhaps Umira can continue her work with more efficiency."

"I think we no longer have the need for guesswork!" McGonagall exclaimed. "Potter almost killed Weasley! With an Unforgivable Curse! And however this was accomplished, it happened right under the task force's noses!"

"And that's where the money trail begins," interrupted Umira. "After we dug around a bit, we figured out that the money was going towards the research of Callisto Zabini, the father of Blaise Zabini, one of the students here. The Zabini family is renowned for their knowledge in alchemy, which, as Dumbledore can tell you, is a dying art. The research in turn was geared towards a certain potion—one infamous in legend. It's called the Malefecium Elixir. To spare you all its gruesome and long-winded history, its basic function is to make the drinker turn on their friends and family, while at the same time acquiring an affinity towards who they once considered their enemies. If the potion goes untreated within a period of over three months, the drinker dies. With this attack on Weasley in mind, it's apparent that someone has finally been successful in slipping it to Harry Potter."

At once the entire table erupted into protests, which hushed up when McGonagall finally stood up to face Umira. No one could exactly explain it, but they felt something from McGonagall they had never felt before.

"That is all well and good that you're focusing on the cause of this incident, but I think I speak for everyone when I say that it is equally important we also focus on the well-being of these two boys—and not just them. If the effects of this potion are as disastrous as Mills says, then anyone Potter once had a connection to is in danger, and if worse comes to worse—"

She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, choked up at the thought of Harry dying.

"You do not have the luxury of efficiency any longer, Miss Mills, nor do you have the luxury of time. Not only must we now worry about Potter's possible imminent death, but we'll have pressure coming in from all sides. The Ministry, the school governors, Cornelius Fudge himself, Mr. Weasley's family—"

"Not to mention Mr. Malfoy."

McGonagall stopped cold and stared at Snape, who had been sitting in his place the entire time, secretly enjoying the relentless interrogation she had been putting Mills under.

"Do you remember, Minerva? After his wife's death, Lucius Malfoy made Weasley an heir. That means he will be constantly looking out for the boy's well-being. So what do we think will happen once he catches wind that another one of his inheritors came dangerously close to death?"

McGonagall threw up her hands again in frustration. "Right. And now we have Lucius Malfoy to worry about, for two apparent reasons. If the Elixir was such a danger, then, why weren't the Aurors informed? Why weren't the teachers informed?"

Suddenly, another unspeakable moment occurred. Umira Mills was caught off-guard. It wasn't that she didn't have an answer ready, but when one thought about it, it was a pretty valid question.

"Then we'd all have been running around in the dark," Umira replied. "All we know is what the Elixir does, not how they planned to sneak it into Hogwarts. We don't know its exact properties. We didn't even know that Potter was the target. We'd have only been causing needless panic."

"Needless panic _and_ necessary precautions! We may not have known the specifics, but we would have been much more prepared! I cross the line here. No more politics, no more investigations, no more guesswork…and no more excuses. I think I speak for all the faculty when I say that if we stand by any longer, the situation will only get worse—not that it has already," she muttered abrasively, shooting a glare at Professor Mills. "As of now, we all have but one concern—saving the life of Harry Potter and those close to him."

Umira kept quiet throughout all of McGonagall's speech. She really didn't have anything to say in her defense. Not even she could have foreseen this disaster.

(End Chap. 38)

Lucius: Finished. That'll put that haughty Professor Mills in her place…and I get to return earlier than Dr. Kim-chan promised!

Everyone else: (gapes at him in horror)

Lucius: What? Besides, her fans are going to LOVE this!

Ron: You deviated from her plan!! You were only supposed to come back in December! What do you think she'll say when Dr. Kim-chan comes back?

Dr. Kim-chan: (steps through—well, _smashes_ the door down) WHAT DO YOU _THINK_ I'LL SAY WHEN I COME BACK!!! LUCIUS MALFOY, I'LL KILL YOU!!!

Lucius: (screams like a little girl and runs)


	39. Andante

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan (no, really, I'm back)

(As punishment for his misdeeds, I was going lock up Lucius in the closet. But due to all the good reviews and circulating petitions, I've decided to let him out, but only on the promise that he never touches my laptop again, and since I have yet to check my mail, that decision might soon be appealed as well.)

Harry: 'Appealed'? What are we, _Law & Order: Criminal Intent_?

Me: No…oohh, but I have a crush on that one guy who used to be on there…he played Detective Goren…oh yeah! Vincent D'Onofrio. Smart men are so sexy.

All: (look at me strangely)

Me: (coughs) Right. Well, anyway, we're just one chapter away from another Silver Remote chapter…but only eleven away from our first-ever Gold Remote Event—wait for it—it's comin'—_DUN DUN DUN!!_ The FIFTIETH CHAPTER! I've never made a fanfiction that long! And it's all thanks to you, my faithful reviewers! By the way, Lucius, what was with making Thirty-Eight all about McGonagall?

Lucius: First off, let's get it straight that I do not have a crush on that woman. I already have Ron, and besides, she's thirty years older than I am!

Plushie: And that's saying a hell of a lot. (gets kicked across the room) OW!!

Me: Well, I guess I have to pick up where you left off. And yes, to all you hopefully desperate, Lucius Malfoy DOES return at last! (yells over the unbearably loud cheering) ROLLING! (whispers) You did remember to say that while I was gone, right?

(Begin Chap. 39)

…The next morning didn't see much of an improvement in anyone's moods.

Although it was far beyond too late, the Aurors finally took some measures to step up security. Harry was still at St. Mungo's—no further details on his condition yet. Ron was still in the hospital ward, practically mute to everyone and everything around him.

Breakfast was strangely quiet, even for the teachers' tastes. Among the students, the whispers were now less about what had happened than what was going on, and what might happen soon. One thing was certain, though: whatever was going on, they could read it in the moods of the teachers. As if it wasn't enough that Professor McGonagall was much more snappish than usual and Professor Mills was down in the dumps (she barely used her psychic abilities in class that day), Professor Snape was eerily calm.

If Hermione was to find any neutral party to discuss these recent events with, there was only one place to go to.

She had only been alone for a day and a half, but already she was beginning to see the disadvantages of not having her two best friends around. Harry and Ron had always told her that they needed her, as much for her insight and common sense as for her book smarts, but what they often failed to realize was that she needed them just as much as they needed her.

She had already gone to Hagrid's yesterday, but he had told her of a meeting the teachers were supposed to have that following night. Hopefully there had been some sort of breakthrough.

Early in the afternoon, when she finally found time out of her busy schedule, Hermione walked out onto the grounds and towards the giant's hut. As she descended that familiar sharp slope on the south side of the castle, she was stopped in her tracks by a peculiar sight. Dumbledore had already beaten her to the punch. He and Hagrid were finishing up a deep conversation outside. The expression on Hagrid's face was a mixed combination of surprise and outrage. Hermione stood in the tall grass, watched, and waited until Dumbledore departed in the other direction before she ran the rest of the way down.

"Hagrid!" she called out.

"Oh. "Lo, 'Ermione."

She frowned and tilted her head. "You look upset. What did Professor Dumbledore say?"

Hagrid sighed deeply and dropped his voice down to a low grumble. "Apparently we're expectin' a visitor in tha next hour or so. I'm headed to the Thestrals' stables now to rig up a carriage. Dumbledore acts as if it's not a problem, but I wonder if he feel the same I do…I jus' can't believe it! How dare he come here!" he hissed out of nowhere, almost making Hermione jump out of her skin.

"Who?" she asked, then in her mind she answered her own question.

"Is it—?"

He nodded. "Yep. Lucius Malfoy. McGonagall and all the other teachers had almost plum forgot, but Professor Snape reminded us at the meeting that he had just recently made Ron his new heir. To be honest, I think he's rubbin' his hands in glee over this."

Hermione stayed silent for a while longer, thinking about what Hagrid had just said. Yeah, he would probably be rubbing his hands in glee…under normal circumstances. But she could tell there were greater forces at work. Something about all this just didn't add up.

"But if he had really wanted this to happen, why would he risk coming to visit Ron in the first place? Mr. Malfoy knows just as well that he's not welcome here, especially not after he kidnapped Ron. And why did he even make Ron his heir in the first place?" Hermione dropped her hands at her sides in frustration. "None of this makes sense, Hagrid."

"I guess we'll finally get sum answers when he gets here. Well, I better get goin'."

…Unfortunately, by the time Hagrid met Mr. Malfoy at the train station in Hogsmeade, it was a little under ten minutes before classes changed, so students were swarming the hallways by the time Dumbledore and the Heads of Houses met him at the innermost entrance in the Great Hall. The blond gentleman had arrived in full effect: the leatherette gloves, the black cloak, that ever-omnipresent cane, and that displeased scowl that would make an enraged Hippogriff flinch in terror.

"Dumbledore. So to whom do I owe the favor of this visit?" he asked scathingly.

"Mr. Malfoy, I assure you that Mr. Weasley is all right."

"Physically, yes. But what am I hearing about him holding himself prisoner in the hospital ward?"

"Madam Pomfrey has been keeping close watch over him. Unfortunately, he hasn't been feeling up to attending classes, and he refuses to speak about the incident."

"Why am I not surprised?" Lucius sighed. "It appears that the two of us seem to be having less-than-perfect luck. I suppose the least I can do is express my gratitude for your efforts—at a different time, in a different place, and Potter would have succeeded."

…The sunlight filtering out through the windows was changing angles at a snail's pace. In the sky, it was pretty much 60/40 in favor of the silvery clouds drifting by. This further dulled the light somewhat, casting an odd glow on all the white sheets and pillows, the living portraits, and the sand-colored stone walls.

None of this mattered to Ron.

His blue eyes saw nothing, either in front of him or around him. He hadn't cried too much since last night…in fact, rarely at all. Still, they were a little red and itchy. He ate once in a while. Sometimes he moved his hand to rub his eyes to get rid of the irritation. Otherwise, he just sat there in bed, keeping very still. Every once in a while Madam Pomfrey would come by to freshen him up, attempting to make small talk, but Ron wouldn't be willing to join in. This morning had been pretty much more of the same.

As usual, Madam Pomfrey was running back and forth between the supply room and the main hospital ward when there was a sharp rapping on the door. She set the bundle of sheets down on the nearest bed before going to answer it. Ron heard Madam Pomfrey take a sharp intake of breath and a couple of deep rumbling voices. One of them sounded like Dumbledore…but the other one…

Could it be?

The next thing that came into Ron's field of vision was the one thing that could have given him hope at this, what felt like the lowest point in his young life. It was impossible, but there he was: the platinum-blond hair, the gloves, cloak, the square jaw, the ice-blue glare in his narrowed eyes. Was this some kind of dream? A cruel trick of the mind, perhaps?

"Ron."

No. That voice proved it. Startled, the despondent redhead looked up into those familiar eyes, his jaw dropping ever so slightly.

"Are you all right?"

How many times he had heard the same question being asked of him over and over again in the past 48 hours. He was nearly at his wits' end about the whole affair—but this was an entirely different situation altogether. Trying to regain his composure, he looked around the hospital ward before answering.

"I…I don't know. I'm still in shock about what happened. What did I do to make Harry hate me so much? I wonder if it's just another one of You-Know-Who's tricks…"

It was an uncomfortable moment of silence before Ron put two and two together.

"Mr. Malfoy, does this have to do with the experiment that Mr. Zabini was working on during the summer? That Malefactor Elixir you both were talking about?"

Lucius could see the fear creeping into his eyes, wrinkling the skin around them and making the emotion even more visible. Lucius cast his eyes downward and sighed. He didn't even know why Ron had even bothered to ask. He wasn't stupid; he already knew the ominous answer. It was useless to lie to him at this point. However, he didn't know what it did or who had been responsible for slipping it to him. That gave him at least a little bit of leeway.

"Yes."

Ron quickly shook out of his funk and pressed his lips together so firmly they almost disappeared completely inside his mouth. His unfathomable depression was now replaced by a silent, seething fury.

"So how can I believe you?" he muttered under your breath.

"Believe me?" Lucius asked incredulously.

"When I started working for you—you kept forcing me to get in bed with you, but you kept telling me you were in love with me, and I started to believe you. Now you made Harry into some bloody mad murderous lunatic—"

"Don't be stupid," the blond man interrupted caustically. "I had nothing to do with it."

"Like hell you didn't! You're the one who kept me hostage and asked for the money!"

Then Lucius gave him the one glare that Ron still recognized. It was the glare Lucius used to give him when, whenever they were in some sort of conflict, Ron would start being too stubborn for his own good. Ron never crossed that line, but he was too afraid to find out what would happen if he did…probably something like what happened after they had gone to Diagon Alley that fateful day in August.

After Ron's lips resurfaced, Lucius's own expression softened and he looked him square in the eye.

"If anything, you're giving the Dark Lord _too much_ credit. Just because his followers are loyal to him doesn't mean it works the same in reverse. Voldemort has his own agenda, and we are all his tools; I realize that now. Some don't mind, as long as that brief taste of power is the last thing they taste. There are a select few he actually does trust. I cannot honestly say which category I fall under, but something tells me I must be a pawn. He can use my son for his own means, while at the same time he can murder my wife for treason. Meanwhile, I'm obligated to allow some heinous experiment go on inside my own house and keep silent about it. There was a time when I would have considered this normal, just a part of my duty as a Death Eater, and talked myself into believing it would all pay off in the long run…but not anymore."

Well, this was shocking. A confession didn't get more personal than this. Everything he had just said sounded…almost _anti­­_-Voldemort.

"You're saying you're thinking of quitting the Death Eaters?"

"The point I'm trying to make is that as long as you stay at Hogwarts, and if Potter is allowed to return—which, knowing Dumbledore, I'm almost certain it'll happen—no one can guarantee your safety. And if you die, I can't guarantee my reputation. You're my heir, and therefore my responsibility…so I've come to take you back home with me."

…"You can't be serious!"

It was about fifteen minutes later, and apparently Ron wasn't the only one shocked by Mr. Malfoy's plan.

Lucius had left Ron's bedside momentarily, the last words he left with him being to think his offer over—and "to think it over well", because with this recent incident, it didn't leave him with many more people to trust. The matter was now being discussed in Dumbledore's office, and all eyes were now on Professor McGonagall, who was literally red in the face.

"I meant every word," Lucius replied crisply. "Weasley is my legal beneficiary; therefore I have an obligation to look after his well-being."

"You're not the only one," said McGonagall. "We've already notified Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and they're supposed to arrive tomorrow. Can't we discuss it then?"

"I don't believe we can afford the time. Dumbledore, didn't you just say that Potter is scheduled to be discharged from St. Mungo's tomorrow as well?"

"Yes," Dumbledore answered.

"And what makes the Healers believe so strongly that Potter won't try to attack Weasley again?"

"No one can make any kind of guarantee at the moment, but on the other hand they can't do much else. They haven't reported any further hostile outbursts from Mr. Potter since the night before, and until they can determine the exact cause and discover an antidote, there isn't anything else we can do."

Lucius stared around the dark office and at all the professors present, the realization drawing upon him like a heavy veil. His eyes narrowed, the blue inside them decreasing by five whole shades.

"Tell me, honestly. The truth is that none of you trust me with Weasley."

"_I_ don't," McGonagall replied sharply, stepping forward. "As both a Hogwarts professor and deputy headmistress, I am responsible for the students' safety as well. Everyone in this room is. That said let me remind everyone that you were only recently released from Azkaban _and_ that you were responsible for his kidnapping. I don't know how you gained Mr. Weasley's trust, but you haven't yet gained mine."

Lucius's eyes narrowed even further to the point where they were almost closed. Before a real confrontation could break out, Dumbledore stood up and walked out from behind his desk.

"Minerva, this dilemma will _not_ be solved by reflecting upon Mr. Malfoy's credibility," Dumbledore stated firmly. "Now whether his family will accept his answer and respect his wishes, I do not know, but the final choice must be made by Weasley, and that choice is his alone."

"But his decision could very well be the worst decision!" McGonagall shot back. "Children don't necessarily know what's good for them."

"And forcing him to stay here with Potter is any better?" Lucius demanded.

"Until the Weasleys arrive tomorrow morning, that is our only recourse," said Dumbledore. "Weasley will stay in the hospital ward until tomorrow. Contact between Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley will also be restricted until then. Can we agree on those terms?"

Begrudgingly, McGonagall agreed, as did Lucius. The debate was over…for now.

(End Chap. 39)

Me: Is it me, or is McGonagall getting more crotchety?

Plushie: (sarcastically) No, it's just you.

Me: Do I have to call Lucius in here so he can kick you across the room again?

Plushie: (gulp) I'll be good. For an old guy, he has a strong kick.

Lucius: I heard that.

Plushie: Eep!

Me: So should Ron stay or go? It'll all be decided in the upcoming Chapter 40! Let's polish that Silver Remote!


	40. Lose to Win

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: (strapped tight inside a straitjacket and securely chained to my chair inside the theater)

Lucius: Dr. Kim-chan would like to apologize (yet again) for having Chapter Forty out late, especially considering that in this installment you find out whether Ron comes home with me or not. But, surprisingly enough, even fanfic authors have their own lives to live. But now she's ready to go and that critical decision will be made—

Me: _EQUUS!!!!!_

Ron: And don't forget to explain why we have her strapped to a chair.

Lucius: Right. Well, she almost cracked while trying to adjust to college life, and she was just starting to get into a nice, quiet rhythm when she decided to log on to Mugglenet for the first time since she left home. Everyone had known for quite some time that Daniel Radcliffe was going to be the main character in a play called—

Me: _EQUUS!!!!!_

Lucius: Right…anyway, just recently the website posted pictures from a promotional photoshoot…and…well…

Me: OMG! You HAD to see it, Luci!!! There was beard stubble, and veins in the arms, and beard stubble, and muscles, and a trail of hair leading to unknown regions—you know, which they cut off in the pictures, but…there was beard stubble, and baggy jeans, and a pretty white horse, and _beard stubble_, and hip bones, and bare chests…oh, and did I mention BEARD STUBBLE?!! Lordy, WHAT is in England's water supply?!?

Lucius: And as if seeing a rapidly developing Daniel Radcliffe wasn't enough, she finally found out the release date of the seventh book—the last Harry Potter book that will ever be published. Ever

(A sudden scared silence falls over the room.)

Harry: No more of me…NO MORE OF ME!! AND JK MIGHT MEAN THAT LITERALLY!! (bursts into tears, as does Ron and Draco. Plushie grabs a wine bottle, drinks it all down, and passes out to cope.)

Me: (stands up, suddenly in an overly patriotic mood) But you know what there WILL be more of? This fic—no, ALL fanfiction! There will be more crazed fanfic authors! There will be more crackpot theories! Even if the books and movies end, their spirit will live on! (A flag drops down and flutters behind me) Now someone put the Silver Remote in my mouth, dammit. (Ron sticks the remote between my teeth) Thank you. _EQUUS!!!!—_I mean, rolling!

(Begin Chap. 40)

"_I don't know how you gained Mr. Weasley's trust, but you haven't yet gained mine."_

Lucius mulled over Professor McGonagall's words in silence as the carriage bumped ungracefully towards the castle looming over the horizon. They were both adults, of course, and McGonagall was easily thirty years Lucius's senior, but he would have been ready to fight tooth and nail with her to get Ron if he had to.

"Would have been"…

It hadn't, nor would it ever, cross Lucius's mind to consider bowing down to Dumbledore's will, especially considering the fact that they were potentially going to do him more harm than good. They knew by now that it had been the Malefecium Elixir that caused Potter's delusional fit; Umira had reported to Voldemort that it had been a necessary sacrifice to divulge a bit of information. All hopes of Lucius staying out of Azkaban now rested—quite ironically—in the hands of the Order of the Phoenix.

All that aside, though the faculty of Hogwarts probably didn't know the exact severity of the situation, Lucius knew. The Order knew. Even with restricted communication, it would actually be safer to give Ron to Lucius than keep him here at the school.

But…

Lucius sighed and shifted the weight of his body. Well, that wasn't particularly true either. A fate probably just as terrible awaited him at the Malfoy Manor as well. Voldemort wanted him to prove his worth and throw away what would most likely be his only chance at true happiness. Get killed by your lover or your best friend: which was the lesser of two evils?

And there was yet another point to consider. Ron was rapidly beginning to lose faith in him, and that was the one thing he had _never_ wanted to happen. Seeing his hurt expression in the hospital ward had finally opened Lucius up to some true, basic facts.

Lust, for all its consummation, required hardly any work; maybe a handful of sly tricks, but nothing more. It was a game to be played, sometimes with deadly consequences. However, if one played their cards right, they could easily pass the buck and be left unharmed, left to play another round with another person.

But this was something entirely different. This was love. Love wasn't so much a game as it was a messy enigma, a puzzle with many pieces, a game with so many rules it wasn't even considered fun anymore. But if one played their cards right in this arena, they would be left with happiness. Being left to play another round wasn't a trophy to be won; it was a humiliating loss. Now that he realized that he was in new territory, he would have to change plans. At this point he was unsure of how it would work out, or if he would be left alive, but he was damn sure of one thing.

He wanted Ron, and he wanted Ron unharmed.

So that was to be his decision, then.

Sighing deeply again, he looked out of the small cutout window towards the still waters of the lake. Straight above it, the sun was once again being ousted out of its kingdom by a group of steel-gray clouds, but the air refused to stay still. It wasn't rain that was coming…

It was something worse.

...A couple of hours prior to this, Hermione, like mostly everyone else at Hogwarts, had been sitting in the Great Hall for breakfast. The atmosphere was still a bit tense; the new rumors going around now were as new as yesterday. Lucius and all of the Heads of Houses had been spotted hovering around the hospital ward—where Ron was still being holed up. What was shocking was that Lucius had gone in…alone. But even _more_ shocking than that, nothing seemed to have resulted from it. It had just been for him to see if Ron was all right.

Needless to say, this was _not_ helping Ron's reputation. People were seriously beginning to wonder if Ron had in fact moved to the Dark Lord's side. Hermione claimed it all as rubbish, but even she couldn't smother that seed of doubt taking root deep within her chest.

Suddenly, everyone had been abruptly interrupted from their pondering when the double doors on Gryffindor's side of the hall opened up. The soft buzz of conversation came to a standstill, and Hermione glanced up from her half-filled parchment to see why time had stood still.

The reason: Harry had finally been discharged from St. Mungo's.

After the initial shock, the buzz continued—a little louder, but now with a great amount of unease. Gryffindor just outright refused to speak with him, eyeing him warily as a first-year in Care of Magical Creatures did to the creatures Hagrid brought in to his classes. This may have been, in fact, the right thing to do. Right after he had returned, Harry had been given the strictest orders not to see Ron. His head in a daze over the events, this had confused him enough, but when he had caught wind of the story that Mr. Malfoy had not only come here but was at Ron's bedside, he was enraged. And really, it had been a wonder that he hadn't completely lost it when there was also talk of Mr. Malfoy's plan to bring him back to the Manor. And they dared to call _him_ the potential danger?

And apparently there was only one more trump card Hogwarts had left to pull.

"They're coming today?"

"In the early afternoon, most likely," Hermione answered, twirling her food around with her fork. "And if that's the case, we really have nothing to worry about. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wouldn't let Ron go with Mr. Malfoy in a million years. They may even end up bringing him back home with them."

"Hermione…"

She was startled by the unusually soft tone in his voice and gave him his full attention. His brow was furrowed in deep though, as if he was trying really hard to recover a memory—which, in fact, he was.

"Hermione…what exactly did I _do_ that night? No one's told me anything."

Hermione's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and her head hung down. She hadn't even seen what had happened, but had heard plenty about it. But she couldn't bring herself to say it…

"I'll tell you what happened, Harry," a voice rang out beside them.

Seamus, who had been sitting on Hermione's side, had stood up and walked over to them the minute Harry had asked the question. His lips were pursed and shoved to one side of his face; indeed, he had said "Harry" as if he had just spat out a dirt-flavored Every Flavor Bean.

"That night, it sounded like you'd woken up from a bad dream, 'cause I heard Ron gettin' up and tryin' to calm you down. The next thing I hear, Ron's screamin' and nearly chokin' to death. Me, Dean and Neville wake up, push our bedcurtains aside, and we see you sitting on him, stranglin' him, callin' him a traitor."

Harry's eyes widened, his fear growing by leaps and bounds. He would have protested, but he had no grounds to argue against the boy standing across from him.

"Dean tried to get you away from Ron, but you threw Dean across the room and jumped on him again. That time you grabbed for your wand and tried to—"

Seamus stopped, wondering if he should continue. Harry gave him a look that meant he wanted to know more, even if it was at the expense of his sanity.

"—You tried to cast the Killing Curse."

Whatever conversation that had finally decided to bubble up from the surface at the Gryffindor Table was immediately silenced again. Harry turned to Hermione, his face wrought with shock. Hermione looked up and nodded solemnly.

"I was in the girls' dormitory, but I heard a lot of people yelling all of a sudden…then I heard you as the teachers were trying to drag you to the hospital ward. You were just…you said, 'Get off of me! I have to finish him off! He knows something! He can't be trusted!'."

Harry was literally at a loss for words. His eyes darted between Hermione and Seamus, trying to form a paragraph in his throat, a sentence, a word, a vowel…anything to shake off the uncomfortable silence surrounding him.

"What—?"

"Harry, it wasn't even your fault. Dumbledore and the rest of the teachers are looking into whether it was an attack by Voldemort."

"Don't defend him, Hermione!" Seamus burst out. "We all know Harry's been angry with Ron since the beginning of term! He prob'ly meant what he said that night!"

"Get this straight, Finnegan," Harry hissed, and Seamus knew he should've stopped after that; using one's last name was usually the last string to be broken. "The only reason I was angry with him was because he was being a jerk!"

"He was probably being a jerk because he had just got kidnapped by Malfoy! Nobody still knows what happened in the manor, not even Rita Skeeter."

"That's just my point. It wasn't exactly like he was tortured or starved to death, and he never told us anything, so _something_ must have went on in there. How do you explain the fact Malfoy's mum got killed and Mr. Malfoy put Ron in his will right after he came back to Hogwarts?"

Seamus couldn't find an answer to that, but someone else seriously took offense to that. Looking despondent just a second ago, Hermione shot Harry a dirty look.

"You honestly think Ron's gone to work for You-Know-Who?!" she said in disgust. "I thought you had faith in us, Harry!"

"I have faith in _you_," Harry reassured her, "and I didn't say Ron was working for the Dark Lord."

"Not directly."

Again, no words. Hermione huffed, stood up, and grabbed Harry by the wrist.

"Ron will probably never forgive me for doing this, but I have to do this. I have to tell you what he told me before you _or_ him completely lose your minds," she muttered under her breath. And with that, she dragged the dark-haired boy out of the Great Hall.

…It wasn't too long after this that Lucius arrived back at the school, retreating yet again to the hospital ward. Approximately two hours later, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley showed up. Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Professor Mills met them at the entrance and led them to the same place. With a sort of odd, slow grace, he knocked on the wooden door so lightly you wouldn't have believed the people inside heard it. However, Madam Pomfrey opened the door a crack half a minute later.

"Mr. Malfoy, the Weasleys are—yes," she whispered while looking in the opposite direction, then she switched back to the headmaster. "He'll be out presently."

Usually when people say "presently", they actually mean in a few minutes or so, but no sooner did Madam Pomfrey disappear from the crack in the door than Lucius swung it wide open. A flicker of emotion registered in his eyes. If Harry thought what happened in the Great Hall this morning was tense, he should have been around to feel the air literally crackle between Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley. It was certainly a sight to behold: the parents of the captive meeting, more or less cordially, with their son's tormentor. The reproachful glare Molly was throwing at him from the sidelines wasn't helping either.

"Good afternoon, Arthur," Lucius said curtly, then turned a little to the left and nodded to Mrs. Weasley. "Molly."

"What's this about bringing _my_ son back with you?" Mrs. Weasley demanded, cutting right to the chase.

"The Maleficium Elixir," Umira said, nodding subtly to the two parents. "Potter was the target all along. He attacked Ron last Wednesday. If we hadn't restrained him in time,…well…Potter almost used an Unforgivable Curse on him. The worst one."

Molly's hands flew up to her mouth and made a little choking sound in her throat. Arthur's eyes widened as large as the bathtub drain stoppers he loved to collect.

"I—is Ron all right?! Is Harry—?"

"They're both fine, Arthur," Umira answered. "However, the Healers at St. Mungo's could not find a cure…as you know, for this potion there is none."

"Potter hasn't shown any more symptoms since that night, but we can no longer guarantee Weasley's safety…and no one else's, for that matter," McGonagall intervened.

"Which brings us to Lucius' proposition," Dumbledore continued. "Although you two certainly have a say in the matter, he _is_ within his rights. Since Mr. Malfoy made Ron his heir apparent, in such dire situations as these he may take on the duty of a legal guardian. The Ministry notarized the will two weeks ago."

Arthur raised an eyebrow and stepped forward. Of course _he_ knew about this whole episode with the will that the Daily Prophet had put out for all the wizarding world to see. Though his department was a far cry from the top brass, Arthur still kept his eyes and ears open in the Ministry. Nevertheless, all the meddling in the world, his or the Daily Prophet's, couldn't answer that one essential question…

"I've been meaning to ask you about that, Malfoy; I think we all've been meaning to."

Lucius smirked. "Please, go ahead."

"Why did you put my son into your will?"

As expected, a moment of silence followed, but Lucius actually had a response prepared—even much to his own surprise, since in the letter he admitted that he couldn't even explain his actions to himself.

"I already told you, and I'll swear it again, that your son was never harmed in the time that I kept him. You could go in there and ask him yourself. Over those short two months we've come to respect each other rather well—in fact, he was the best housekeeper I've ever had. We know I already have a natural heir: my son. But in all honesty I don't expect him to leave the Manor, nor do I expect him to maintain it. Now that my wife's passed away, Weasley was the only sensible choice. Consider it a reimbursement for these past circumstances."

The aura of fury then completely dissolved away from Mrs. Weasley, leaving only confusion. But Lucius wasn't done shocking everyone yet.

"It's also come to my attention that none of you trust me, and of course I understand. I don't even believe that what I've just told you is the complete truth."

"Surprising," Mr. Weasley intervened. "You're usually a bit more persuasive."

The blond man's smirk grew wider. "If anyone knows this, it's you, Weasley, and that is that I enjoy winning my arguments—"

Suddenly the smirk faded away, leaving behind two lips sagging with uncertainty and remorse.

"However…it seems that in order to win my argument this time, I will have to lose."

Before Arthur or Molly could ask what that meant, Lucius turned to them and gave a slight nod.

"Arthur, Molly…I'll be leaving your son in your care."

Behind his back, Umira's eyebrows spread apart; she couldn't believe what she just heard. As the Death Eaters' trusted double agent and an expert Seer who almost never missed a thing, she had long since been in the know about the terrible deed Lucius had been entrusted to do. What in the world was he thinking? If he showed up at the Malfoy Manor empty-handed…

So she had been right all along. Fantastic as it sounded, he had really meant what he said.

(End Chap. 40)

Reviewers: (crying and outraged) YOU SUCK!!! (throw garbage into the theater)

Me: (now out of my straitjacket) CUT IT OUT!! You honestly think it's been resolved that quickly? Think about it; when was the last time I've led all of you astray and/or shocked you beyond all reason?

Random Guy: When you said Umira Mills was a double spy?

Random Guy 2: When you had Blaise seduce Ron?

Randon Gal: When Harry attacked Ron in Chapter Thirty-Seven?

Random Gal 2: When this fic reached forty chapters?

Me: The point is, Lucius knows very well what he's doing. The party's only getting started, ladies and gents! Wait until Chapter 41—which I PROMISE won't be two months later. And by the way, Happy Valentine's Day. (audience throws garbage again) Okay, considering this wasn't a happy ending to a chapter, but I'm working on it!!!


	41. Rules of the Game

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

(The B&DD Theater is now practically a landfill, filled with the garbage passionate reviewers have thrown at me. So we called a cleaning crew to take care of the mess, and in the meanwhile, we're doing a special B&DD broadcast from the Malfoy Manor—)

Lucius: Wait a minute, since when?

Me: Since now. (snaps her fingers, and in no time we're all sitting in a couch in the parlor on the first floor with a thirty-inch flat-screen television hanging over the fireplace) Ugh, we're sitting on…_that_ couch.

Draco: What couch?

Me: The couch from Chapter Fourteen, from Ron's little dream…

((Nearly) everyone shrieks and moves to different chairs, but Lucius and Plushie stay where they are.)

Plushie: What? It's cool.

Me: Riiiiight…anyway, if you noticed, I've changed the summary of the story. It's a little cliché, but I like it better than the original. Took me forever to make it fit, though. Summaries are so limiting. But more to the point, apparently it's now official that despite my writing talent, I suck for separating Lucius and Ron _yet again_ after oh-so-long…or is this yet another one of my twisted plans? Most likely. My sincerest condolences go to you, catc10, and do not fear; _you shall not be disappointed any longer!!_ This chapter is dedicated to you. Roll it! (clicks remote)

(Begin Chap. 41)

…"…change your mind?"

"…would be best for him…"

"…certain?"

"Yes…be on my way."

He had only been able to catch snips of the conversation, but Ron had heard enough from outside the hospital ward's door to know that all their hopes had been reduced to naught.

Footsteps…a single pair of retreating footsteps was echoing in his ears.

He couldn't be…

After reducing himself to a vegetable state for almost a week, Ron suddenly found the energy to tear away the bed sheets, march to the door and swing it open as wide and hard as Lucius did the first time around. All the professors huddled around the entryway turned to stare at him curiously, but he disregarded their piercing eyes, as his own eyes were focused on the black-clad man a few feet away.

Lucius took a couple more steps before stopping and inclining his head. Even something about the way those few stray, flaxen locks scraped his shoulder made Ron's heart ache.

Lucius cleared his throat and looked him straight in the eye. "Weasley, I'm afraid there's been a change of plans—"

But he was able to say nothing more.

A loud shriek bounced off nearly every single stone wall in the castle, and it continued bouncing off in every direction—it was coming closer and closer. It wasn't long before a dark-haired girl in black and blue robes came careening towards the little group assembled in front of the hospital ward, not even stopping to check if that was really Lucius Malfoy standing among them. Ron tried to squeeze his eyes together, but she ran too fast for him to adjust his vision.

Then he realized—it was Cho Chang.

"Miss Chang…?" McGonagall started to say, but Cho, despite her complete lack of breath, beat her to the punch.

"Professor, you have to come right away! It's Hermione! She—Harry—"

Umira stepped forth and put two hands on the Ravenclaw's shoulders. At a distance it looked like she was simply comforting her, but she was also transferring a calmer energy to her body.

"Cho, calm down," she instructed quietly but firmly. (She was probably the only teacher who used the students' first names almost exclusively.) "What happened to Hermione?"

"H—Harry…he was…I saw him and Hermione talking in a hallway…then—then I heard her screaming…Harry was…h-he was trying to choke her! We called for help and—like, four Aurors came and tried to get him off her, but he…he just _threw_ them down the hallway, a-and…but she was able to Petrify him,…but she's—passed out…!"

Literally, in the single space of twenty seconds, McGonagall called for Pomfrey, Dumbledore gave out orders with the speed and efficiency of an Army general, and suddenly everyone except Lucius and Ron were left standing. Oh, Ron could beat that. In _two_ seconds his thoughts had turned from worrying solely about Lucius to worrying about the one person who had been trying so hard to keep them apart. And Hermione—of course, Hermione! Ron had been lucky enough not to pass out, but…if they didn't get to _her_ in time…

"This is _exactly_ why you need to leave," Lucius suddenly burst out harshly, though it was more an opinion spoken aloud. "Albus places his trust in the worst sort of people."

"Don't you dare blame Harry for this!" Ron bellowed, not even giving a second thought to who he was yelling at. "You said it yourself; it's the Elixir doing this!"

"I wouldn't be blaming him…_if_ this was any other person," Lucius replied. "Can you honestly stand there and tell me Potter wasn't acting this way _before_ he was given the Elixir?"

And it was with this particular question that Ron was absolutely stumped. There had been times last year when both Ron and Hermione felt that the only thing standing between Harry's disposition and the mindset of a psychopathic maniac was actual physical violence.

"I'm not trying to play mind games; I'm asking a simple question. We were both well assured that you and Granger could call Potter your friend. But as time has gone by, he's seen enough death and despair to make anyone go mad, plus he's expected by all the wizarding world to clean up our mess," Lucius began to explain. "The only string he's had to hold himself together is his friends. So tell me, is the Malefecium Elixir completely taking over an originally pure soul, or is it just unlocking dark, terrible urges he's been hiding within himself all this time?"

Ron's face crumpled up in disappointment. He had never thought of that before. Neither he nor Hermione could have ever claimed at any time to know what Harry was thinking. A crazy idea would suddenly pop into his head, and he would explain the complexities with such earnest that they had no choice but to go along with it. Was he really plotting their deaths this entire time…?

"At least he had that one string," Ron muttered. "It's not his fault everyone's 'specting him to save the world. Even if he was a bit loony, at least he had his friends. Now he doesn't even have that. How would you feel if someone gave you the Elixir?! Then you'd have to kill me."

"I don't need the Elixir to kill you."

Ron's face suddenly went white. Lucius had carelessly muttered that as an afterthought; only afterwards did he snap back to consciousness and realize what he had said. Well, how much worse could things get by telling him the truth? If anything, more than ever, he deserved it.

"I think, when you opened the door, that you were going to ask for an explanation, am I right?"

"I _was_, but I couldn't ask in front of my parents. They'd have thought I _wanted _to go with you," Ron explained.

"Which you do," Lucius stated matter-of-factly. The paleness in the redhead's cheek was promptly replaced by a crimson blush.

"But _they_ can't think that. Everyone else thinks I'm a Death Eater; why let my parents think the same thing?"

"Next time someone asks, roll up the sleeve on your left arm."

"What?"

"It's common knowledge that Death Eaters have the Dark Mark branded on their left forearm once inducted, so if someone wants to give you trouble, roll up your sleeve."

For some odd reason, Lucius was smiling when he said that. It was a sordid subject, but Ron couldn't help but chuckle as well. A second later he shook his head as if trying to get water out of his ears.

"Stop changing the subject!" Ron demanded. "You wanted me to come back with you more than anyone, so why did you suddenly change your mind? You said you didn't need the Elixir to kill me. Why?"

"Because Voldemort's orders are persuasion enough. After you left, someone leaked out information about us to him. When I was summoned and stood before him, I was expecting to die right then and there. Instead…he _commends_ me."

Lucius laughed again, but it was a scornful sort of laughter, so Ron didn't join in this time.

"You told me once that you were familiar with wizard's chess, correct? It's the same thing. A pawn or two is cornered and destroyed by a knight, or the queen. Then while the white pieces keep the red ones busy, the red king begins to worry—if chess pieces _can_ worry—because all his subjects are defending him. He begins to sweat profusely, waiting for the time when the player says 'check'. Then when 'checkmate' is called, the knight pulls his sword, and the blade finds home."

If one didn't know a thing Ron Weasley, they wouldn't have thought in a thousand years that he wouldn't have gotten that reference. But contrary to them, a glow lit up in his blue eyes—a glow of both intellectual achievement and full-frontal terror.

"You're the knight…"

"…And you're the red king."

"So to save me…"

"…I was sacrificing a piece."

Two pairs of blue eyes regarded each other for a frozen moment.

Then…

"Well, obviously you don't know anything about wizard's chess."

Lucius's eyes expanded in astonishment. _That_ was unexpected.

"If you want to sacrifice a piece or two anyway, I know a better tactic…AND it's one of Montague Knightley's best moves. Read about it in one of Mum's subscriptions to _Witch Weekly_."

"…Weasley, we're not actually playing wizard's chess."

"Yes we are…sort of."

…Meanwhile, in a secluded corridor on the fifth floor, Dumbledore and the rest came rushing up to nearly the entire specialized Auror force. Two of them were off to the side, comforting a huddled mass of frizzy brown hair and red-and-black robes; fortunately they _did _get to her in time. The rest of the Aurors were surrounding Harry Potter's frozen body, discussing what to do with it. The expression captured in his face was terrifying: anger gradually being replaced by terror when he had begun to realize Hermione had pulled her wand on him.

"Dumbledore, we think it best if we transport him back to St. Mungo's Closed Ward in this condition," a young man with dirty-blonde hair said as he stood up to greet him. "If we unfreeze him now…"

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "I'll lead you to the portal. Minerva, inform the rest of the professors. Mills, stay here with Miss Chang and Miss Granger. See that they get to the hospital ward."

"Albus, what about Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall asked.

"…Tell them to wait in my office. Now that the situation's developed…I suppose we'll have to move Mr. Weasley sooner than expected—Miss Granger, too, for that matter."

"We could bring her along, if you like, until everything gets straightened out," Mrs. Weasley offered. "I don't think her parents will take this very well."

Again, Albus nodded, and everyone tended to their duties. By now Umira, Cho, Hermione, and the two Aurors were the only ones left standing in the corridor.

"Anything wrong with her physically?" Umira asked.

One of the Aurors, a female with long jet-black hair, stared up determinately at the redhead.

"Serious bruises on her neck, but nothing else. Her back and shoulders are a little sore; Potter apparently threw her down on the floor." She glanced back at Hermione, whose head was down on her lap and hidden behind a massive brown curtain. "Are you still having any trouble breathing?"

She slowly shook her head, and the black-haired witch glanced back up at Professor Mills. "Poor dear just needs some rest, is all."

Mills' own face softened. McGonagall was right; she _had_ gotten careless. Oh, it would have been so easy to just pass on the buck to Dumbledore. After all, he was the one who believed a definite solution could have been found if Draco had been allowed to finish his mission. But, as a double spy for the dark forces, it was in her best interest for all this to unfold. On the one hand she was heavy-handed and confronted problems right at the source; on the other hand, she waited in the shadows, always keeping an eye out for a vital opportunity. Was she confusing roles—or simply confusing herself?

She stepped forward two more steps, motioned for the two Aurors to back away, and reached out her arms. But she wasn't going to do what she did to Cho. Her hands went for the cheeks instead.

"Miss Granger, look at me," she instructed in a soft voice.

Startled by this comforting touch, Hermione's face slowly tilted upwards until the brown curtain fell away to reveal her bloodshot eyes and damp cheeks. A blotchy ring encircled her throat like a necklace of chunky beads.

"Miss Granger, I know you're traumatized. I'm going to try and alleviate some of the stress on your mind and body. Just close your eyes, breathe deeply, and try and think of nothing else."

Hermione nodded again and did as she was told. Professor Mills then turned her hands on their sides, fingers forward, and placed their tips on each temple, closing her eyes as well. What Professor Mills blatantly forgot to mention was that this technique—empathic healing—was a _very_ dangerous thing for a Seer to try, even one of her level. All the emotions the Seer received from the victim was magnified twofold because of the psychic power they possessed, so any strong feeling was potentially harmful.

All that notwithstanding, Umira began the process.

_Darkness…darkness…a scene beginning to unfold._

_It was a recount of the last moments before Harry attacked her, through Hermione's perspective._

_She was sitting in the Great Hall, going over some parchments…looked like homework. Her fellow students around her went quiet…Harry appeared in her field of vision, coming to sit across from her. He looked extremely distraught and worried. They began a conversation. Hermione mentioned the Weasleys coming to get Ron, and Harry looked a little more relieved after that. Then he asked what he did to Ron, since he couldn't remember. A loud voice with a strong Irish accent erupts next to Hermione. She turned around to see Seamus standing up, telling him word-for-word what had happened that night in the dormitories. Hermione then tried to intervene._

"_Harry, it wasn't even your fault. Dumbledore and the rest of the teachers are looking into whether it was an attack by Voldemort."_

"_Don't defend him, Hermione! We all know Harry's been angry with Ron since the beginning of term! He prob'ly meant what he said that night!"_

_The arguing only got more heated, then Harry said something else._

"…_How do you explain the fact Malfoy's mum got killed and Mr. Malfoy put Ron in his will right after he came back to Hogwarts?"_

_Hermione looks back at Harry. There's a bit of anger in her._

"_You honestly think Ron's gone to work for You-Know-Who?! I thought you had faith in us, Harry!"_

"_I have faith in you, and I didn't say Ron was working for the Dark Lord."_

"_Not directly."_

_When Harry didn't give an answer back, Hermione grabbed his wrist, muttered something under her breath, and dragged him out of the Great Hall. Now the scene was changing. They were going up, through the maze of moving corridors, walls whizzing past them. Now they were in the hallway on the fifth floor. She set him to the side and began recounting to Harry what Ron apparently told her one day in October during the Pensieve tests. Harry's face rapidly went through a series of different changes: shock, revulsion, surprise, anger._

_That anger…_

"_Why didn't you tell me this sooner, Hermione?! For all we know, Malfoy's trying to kill him!"_

"_That's what I thought at first too, but…something's different about this. Mr. Malfoy isn't his usual self; he's acting too boldly. No Death Eater would risk his reputation to come up to Hogwarts personally just to get Ron. I just have this strange feeling he isn't up to his usual tricks. Maybe…he really does love Ron…"_

"_Yeah, when Hagrid starts wearing pink dresses. We all know Mr. Malfoy's nothing but a liar."_

"_Harry, we can't make that assumption. Honestly, I really think we should stop this; it's gone far enough. We're hurting Ron. He already has a dozen rumors about him going around this school, and none of them have been proven!"_

"_Really? Well, maybe we're hurting Ron by _not_ doing anything. I can't believe you were holding all this back from me the whole time. Why didn't you say anything? We could have done something to help Ron, but…you're supposed to be my friend, Hermione! _Our _friend!"_

_Harry's eyebrows curved. Professor Mills could feel the dread beginning to rise in Hermione. Something was _not _right about Harry's eyes…_

"_That's it…that must be it. You're in league with them, too…with Malfoy and Voldemort and all the rest…I can't trust anyone anymore." An unearthly chuckle escaped from his throat. "I can't let any more Death Eaters go free. I have to save Ron before he gets caught in your little scheme…"_

"_Harry, what are you—let go of my arm!"_

_In a split second Professor Mills went from seeing Harry's face to the ceiling. The shock from hitting the stone floor rocked her back and nearly knocked the wind out of her. A reverberating echo of a scream echoed, until it became so loud her head was pounding. The screaming soon turned to a gasping, gurgling sound…she could feel the pressure of Harry's strong hands on Hermione's neck. Such a sharp pain…she couldn't breathe. She could hear shouting around her…and Cho's voice…_

"Professor Mills?"

Cho began to be concerned when the professor's eyelids suddenly began squishing each other tightly. Hermione could tell that her body didn't feel anywhere near as tense since before she started, and she looked at Professor Mills too.

"Professor?"

She was starting to make gurgling noises in her throat. Her eyes still closed, Mills' arms made grabbing motions at her neck, as if someone was choking her. The two Aurors then sprang into action, but she passed out before they could get to her.

"Professor…!"

(End Chap. 41)

All muses: HOLY CRAP!

Draco: And what the hell does wizard's chess have to do with anything?

Me: I know I'm going to spoil it, but for all those who are on the edge of your seats, Professor Mills isn't going to die. But what of this brilliant plan Ron suddenly has?

Ron: Yay! I'm a mastermind!

Me: Tune in for Chapter 42! By the way, eight chapters left until the Golden Fiftieth!


	42. Your Move

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: College work, Spring Break, finals, attending my first-ever anime convention (ACen 10!!!), the start of summer break, and my stupid laptop all conspired in the demise of my plans to get this out on time. But you know you still love me. (readers shrug) Riiiiight. Anyway, I do realize I write a lot of cliffhangers that I don't uphold until three months or so, and I know it's annoying as hell, but I do try.

Lucius: If the meaning of "try" is tramping around Chicago cosplaying and buying a $60 katana you will probably _never_ use.

Me: (smacks him with a defrosted halibut)

Lucius: WTF?

Me: I wanted to smack you with something other than newspaper for a change. Anyway, the main problem in updating, however, had to do with a stalled plot. When I wrote about Ron having a plan…honestly, there was no plan at the time, so I took a break and put a LOT of thought into what'll happen next. I even dedicated an entire Notepad file to tracing back everything I wrote. A lot of Chekhov's guns floating around.

All 4: Wha…?

Me: (sighs the 'Hermione' sigh) A Chekhov's gun is a prop introduced very early on in a story or play, and as insignificant as it may seem at first, it'll be made useful later on, if not at the very end. The name originates from the Russian playwright Anton Chekhov, who once wrote, "If a pistol is on the table in the first act, it must be fired in the last act".

Plushie: …Stop being such a literary smart-ass!

Me: _I can't help it! I'm a Creative Writing major, dammit!!_ (all cower) So what happened to Professor Mills? What of Harry's fate? And what exactly IS Ron's plan? Find out now…or I'll smack you with a defrosted halibut!

(Begin Chap. 42)

…All sounds, all sights…they were nothing more than buzzes and dichromatic blurs.

Struggling to regain a sense of time and space, Professor Mills widened her eyes and lifted her head to inspect her surroundings. It wasn't long before she registered two sensations at once: a vision of Dumbledore and the throb of a pounding headache. She tried ignoring the pain in her temple as tried to sit up. The question of why things weren't as colorful as they looked was answered almost immediately. The hospital wing was dark with the shades of nighttime. How long had she been out of it?

"I understood your reasons for doing so; however, emphatic healing might not have been the safest strategy," Dumbledore's voice echoed back to her.

Mills groaned and sat up fully. The memories of what happened in the past few hours rushed back to her once she heard the words "emphatic healing".

"Where's Hermione?"

"Miss Granger left with the Weasleys once we transported Harry to St. Mungo's. Lucius has returned home as well. As he promised, he left Ronald with his parents."

Mills repeated her previous groan, this time placing her forehead in the palm of her hand.

"You know it'll be hard to keep any level of normalcy at Hogwarts after this," she muttered. "I haven't known Harry, Ron and Hermione for that long, but when I started teaching here I immediately had the sense that, aside from you, they preserved a feeling of security here."

Dumbledore nodded.

"…Far be it from me to question your methods, Albus, but I'm beginning to agree with Minerva. This attack on Miss Granger was much too close for comfort. There has to be another way."

"And I agree with the both of you wholeheartedly. The risks seem to be escalating faster than I imagined. But just the simple fact that his attacks are becoming more violent doesn't disturb me."

"Then…what is?"

"I've only heard bits of rumors about the Maleficium Elixir in all my years of alchemy research. All I knew before the Order discovered the more in-depth information stored in Zabini's records is that it was a dangerous mixture with ties to the Dark Arts that could only be concocted through specific alchemic techniques. It works through the victim's circulatory system rather quickly, but the exact speed at which it works depends on how dark and deep the person's suppressed impulses lie. Sometimes it can work as fast as two weeks."

He shook his head slowly in disappointment. For the first time, Mills saw a reflection of self-doubt in the headmaster she had never seen before.

"I should have anticipated this," Dumbledore sighed. "Harry's been through much more than an adolescent should go through. If only—"

Mills gave him a hard stare. "It couldn't be helped, Albus, not even by you. Each person has their own fate to adhere to, however cruel it may seem. Fortunately for us, they don't always have to have sad endings, so long as we do what we're supposed to do."

…How much more so than now did that little axiom of Professor Mills' apply to Ron and Lucius. The controversy surrounding them was neck-and-neck in the race for attention with the war with Voldemort itself.

Ron's plan hadn't exactly definite—in fact, all that he told him was a seemingly contrived metaphor, once again involving wizard's chess. The example he had drawn from was an article from _Witch Weekly_ involving two of Montague Knightley's favored moves in the game:

"…_The first thing I do in a round is to place my pieces well, looking like I don't even know what I'm doing—deception, if you want to put it like that. You wanna let the opponent think you're a good guy, right? Every good chess player knows that. My second tactic is sacrifice. Of course you're bound to lose pieces in chess. The rook takes a pawn apart; the queen beats a knight over the head with her throne, whatever. Don't put all your hopes on one piece; you'll know you did it right when you lose a piece and you don't even notice it's gone…_"

Ron didn't say much more, except that he assumed Lucius was skilled in making such elaborate schemes, and that he could be trusted to do the same now. Assumptions were dangerous, and Lucius was still doubting his own emotions, but Ron had pretty much sealed Lucius's fate when, yesterday evening, he gave him another one of those piteous looks before boarding the Thestral-drawn carriage that took him, Hermione, and his parents to the Hogsmeade Express. That single moment reopened a lot of old wounds.

It was just like the first time.

They weren't able to give each other a proper goodbye.

So enough games.

As Callisto Zabini asked him that day in the garden, "Well, Lucius? Do you love the boy or not?"

As Lucius wandered the dusty aisles of Hogsmeade, finding a suitable place to Apparate, the sunlight of the early morning gently touched the wood and stone which composed the lopsided buildings. It was a cold morning, made colder by the winds rolling off the lake's surface, that even his valuable, fur-lined cloak couldn't protect him against. As Hermione outlined so many times before, one couldn't perform this feat on Hogwarts grounds, but the rule didn't apply to the far edges of this small hamlet. Lucius often wondered why Voldemort's forces didn't just siege the town, stake out the castle, and make their final move. Then again, there were many other problems with management within the Death Eaters' forces that were more pressing.

Deception. Sacrifice.

These were words he was all too familiar with, but these principles were often used (quite heavy-handedly) to help Voldemort. This was a situation hanging on a silk thread.

Hmm.

Helping Voldemort…chess…pawns…

Maybe Montague Knightley was onto something after all.

With a loud 'pop!', he disappeared with the night sky.

…It felt so strange, so unreal, to be pulling back into King's Cross Station in the last of October. He didn't even know it was permissible.

Except for a lone conductor strolling around the concrete surface, Platform Nine and Three Quarters had been a barren landscape. Rain had threatened the skies above London that evening, and it had been a quick dash to the Leaky Cauldron several blocks away. Their only advantage was that not many Muggles had been around, either to see them materialize on the other side of the train station or enter a building that essentially didn't exist. The weather was too dreary, much too menacing. Appropriate, being that it was only two days until Halloween.

It didn't help that throughout the entire trip, Hermione had been giving him a lingering glance, as if she knew he was keeping a dirty secret from her, and it wasn't exactly a weight off his burden that her silent accusations were more or less true. The glance then turned to a piercing glare when the two sat down at one of the ragged wooden tables in the Leaky Cauldron while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley talked to Tom at the bar for a minute. It was a while before Ron suddenly looked around the dim-lit pub a second time in wonder.

The room had been through numerous clean-ups; Tom could certainly testify to that. But he could still envision the flashing lights from wands right and left, the chaos, the sheer madness, all before he had blacked out and found himself at Lucius's manor. This was where it had all started…not exactly a romantic start, but he could no longer imagine his life if it hadn't happened…

"Ron…"

His head snapped up to look straight into Hermione's brown eyes at the mentioning of his name. Her lids were almost exactly level with one another, so they weren't exactly shouting, "I'm suspicious of your behavior", but now he was suspicious himself.

"Nn?" he grumbled, a bit worn-out from the journey.

"Do you...still have feelings for Mr. Malfoy?"

Ron was immediately roused. He blinked once…twice…narrowed his eyes…widened them again…and finally settled on a saddened expression. No puppy dogs, but it was still something to be pitied.

"Not really."

Hermione made a little grunting in her throat that wasn't exactly affirmative, which Ron picked up on. Then she gave him the full-frontal sigh.

"Doesn't sound like you got over him."

"Well maybe I haven't," Ron said, a bit irritable. He already knew what she was going to say. It was going to be an unnecessarily long treatise about how Harry attacking him had been too much of a opportunity for Mr. Malfoy to show up at Hogwarts and request taking Ron back, and how her oh-so-brilliant deductions led her to believe that this entire episode was even more of a reason to distrust him. Then he would respond (even though he was bad at holding up an argument with her), that none of her theories didn't fully account for what's been going on. Lucius was—

"I didn't mean it like that, Ron. I meant…well…"

An extremely long, hesitant pause on her part.

"I'm still not prepared to go so far as to say you should go with Mr. Malfoy, but I've decided I'm not going to do anything to stop you either. If he was—"

_If Lucius was…_, Ron pressed on mentally. Then her sentence changed direction.

"I've been thinking a lot about these past few days, and none of this makes even the least bit of sense. Mr. Malfoy wouldn't have given up so easily if his intentions had really been to lure you back to his mansion."

Ron lifted an eyebrow. Was he hearing a concede?

"He claimed no responsibility to the whole mess with Harry and the Malefecium Elixir—but of course no one in their right mind would admit that willingly. But I don't mean verbally either. People can give subtle clues as well."

"I…guess…so," Ron whispered, stumbling on his words.

"We've been through a lot in the past few years, right?" Hermione asked, her voice picking up speed and vigor, but still kept at a whisper so as to keep the two adults at the bar at bay. The gears in her head were steadily cranking up to full speed, and once Hermione got going there was no stopping her. Caught in the moment, Ron nodded earnestly.

"The whole matter of the Sorcerer's Stone was a mistake. We were concentrating too much on Professor Snape, but we really should've been watching Professor Quirrell. It was first year; we were all a bit naïve, but that one moment didn't make us perfect either. That's what makes me worry. I wouldn't put it above Mr. Malfoy to act like he had nothing to do with this."

Ron hung his head. _That _was true enough.

"But it wasn't as if he was skulking around. His only worry had been to bring you back home. That could be taken either way, so…"

"You're still not sure," Ron finished for her. Hermione nodded.

"Look, I'm sorry if I was a little hard on you the last time. It's just…uh…erm…"

"I'm not good when it comes to picking enemies."

"It's not like that!"

"It's _exactly_ like that; you don't have to be nice about it. You never are, anyway," Ron groused. Before Hermione could offer a rebuttal, he added, "and I don't know what it is about Luc—Mr. Malfoy that I trust. You're just gonna have to go along with me on this, okay?"

"Hm? On what?"

"…"

Ron had no idea what forces or otherworldly powers Hermione suddenly acquired over the space of three seconds (in all truth, it was the fact that his eyes automatically shifted in all directions). Whatever it was, all of a sudden a light went on behind her eyes and she almost shouted out indignantly:

"_You're meeting back with Mr. Malfoy?!_"

"_Ssshhh!_"

Ron reached over and clamped a freckled hand over her mouth, his eyes darting around again to see if anyone noticed what happened. There weren't really that many people in the pub to notice anything anyway, but it seemed as if the Weasleys were wrapping up their conversation with Tom.

Hermione mumbled angrily through his hand before removing it forcibly.

"Ron, you can't!"

"I thought you said you wouldn't stop me."

"I didn't think you'd rush the situation!"

"I'm not rushing! If we wanna see each other again, it _has_ to be now. I s'pose You-Know-Who's gonna plan something else when he's through with Harry, then nobody'll be able to do anything. Mr. Malfoy works for us now, Hermione. Trust me," he repeated, this time with a more pleading tone.

Hermione bit her lip, mentally strangling herself over what to do. If she agreed, it wouldn't be Ron she would have to put her trust into, anyway. She was even ready to go so far as to say that everything which hung in the balance right now depended on his next movement.

But Ron looked so sure…

She sighed.

"Certainly sounds like you know what you're doing…all right. Whatever I can do to help, I will. Just—just don't die, okay? It's bad enough Harry's been turned into some kind of monster."

Remembering that, Hermione was almost to the point of tears, until Ron put a reassuring hand on her forearm.

"I'll be fine, Hermione. I wouldn't do anything like this if I didn't have a reason. As for Harry, I'm sure the Order and Dumbledore's got something planned. Dumbledore's brilliant, right?"

Hermione nodded hesitantly, and then Ron suddenly looked alert. She heard footsteps coming towards them and hastily wiped a backlog of tears from the bottom rims of her eyes. Tom said they could use a vacant room on the second floor to Floo back to the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley reported, and herded them upstairs. It was on the landing that the two friends' eyes met one more time.

Whatever had led Ron to this decision, Hermione hoped it'd be that same trait that saved him.

…"_I've returned to the manor. There was something I had wanted to tell you while I was there, and I could have, but you understand it was far too risky._"

"I certainly don't have an argument against that. So, what it is? Did Weasley mention anything interesting?"

Lucius held his breath, peering straight through the darkness of his study. He was grateful that it was only words, and not empathic emotions, that was transferred during the process of Occlumency. Not that it was usually within a Malfoy's nature to be guilt-ridden…

"_As a matter of fact, he _did_ say something that struck me as strange._"

"How strange?"

"_…Strange enough that we may have to involve His Lordship…_and_ that sniveling rat_."

(End Chap. 42)

Me: (wipes sweat off brow) Whew. We haven't had good Hermione and Ron interaction since…well, since never.

Harry: What about Chapter 32?

Me: (shrugs) Meh. For those out there who crave action, it'll be coming up very soon. We're now entering the Era of Ron's Return…and you know what that means.

Ron: More older-man action for me!

(Draco turns green again, Plushie digs around for his camcorder, while Lucius…squeals? O.o)

Me: But before that, we're gonna briefly turn our attention to a corner of the story we haven't been turning to in a while. I swear, that corner's getting dusty as hell. I would say the chapter's coming up soon, but we all know what happens when I promise that. Maybe if I do the opposite, the reverse will happen…like reverse psychology! (points to you) DON'T review…you know you (don't) wanna!


	43. Keep Your Eye On It

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Harry: (opens fridge at the back of the theater and gasps. Me, Ron, Draco, and Lucius hurry over…well, Lucius doesn't actually "rush". He's too 'dignified' for that.)

Me: What's the matter? Oh Harry, you should be used to Plushie's excessive alcoholism by now—

Harry: No…all the liquor…IT'S STILL HERE!

Me: Even…the _Courvoisier_?

Harry: Worse. All the bottles…have been ALPHABETIZED!!!

Me: (breaks a glass box which reads "_In Case of Plushie NOT Drinking_" and pulls out bottles of rum and Jack Daniels) WHERE'S PLUSHIE?!! HE MUST BE SOBER OUT OF HIS FREAKIN' MIND!!

Lucius: …Well, I HAD been conversing with him recently—though I had to punt him because he wouldn't stop calling me "Non-Cotton Father". He was upset because the H/D issue hasn't been touched lately.

Me: Well, that HAS been quite a quandary. Some fics keep chugging along, risking alienation, while others are a bit too subservient to their readers, but it's possible to find a middle ground that helps the story AND lets the writer keep their values. Lucky for all, I just had a great idea that'll both shock and satisfy, but that'll be for a while longer—but oh damn, I can't wait! I'm so brilliant— (Phone rings, interrupting my rant. Ron picks it up.)

Ron: Hello? (lifts the receiver from his ear) Uh, this bloke says he's Colin Powell.

Me: (takes the phone) Hello—_what?_ _No_, I didn't authorize that!! Yeah, I KNOW I hang with wizards, but they're not dangerous…yes, I'll take responsibility. _Yes_, your army has authorization. Just don't rip him up; he amuses my readers. (hangs up) Well, Plushie _somehow_ got a hold of tactical nuclear weapons, and _now_ I have to fly to Washington DC to get him. Hold down the fort while I'm gone. (grabs a tranquilizer gun and rushes out of the theater)

Draco: Ok…rolling. (clicks remote)

(Begin Ch. 43)

…_He was certain he'd seen him before._

_No. There was a much more intimate, more disturbing relationship between the two of them. In a sense, he WAS him. Or…was he?_

_This Harry Potter, the one standing across from him, certainly seemed to be an exact copy. The same dark, messy hair; his famous scar hiding amongst his fringe; two green eyes, their stare intense. But something was…_different_. Harry couldn't see his own face at the moment, but he was pretty certain he wasn't scowling. At the very least, he didn't _feel _angry, but clearly this other person was. A pair of dark arches accentuated his face, magnifying his aura of pure hatred. Hatred for who, he wasn't exactly sure._

_He despised this other side of him, but every once in a while some otherworldly force would push him deep into his mind, and he would come face-to-face with this…this _creature. _He didn't even want to call him 'his' other side anymore. This was…this couldn't be his true self._

_As if the other Harry read his mind, his head raised up to look at himself straight in the eye. His grimace widened._

"_You know what you have to do. Ron is involved too deeply with Lucius, and Hermione's been protecting him the entire time. Meanwhile, Voldemort's getting stronger by the second. They all want to bring you down, just like the Ministry."_

_Harry could feel himself shake his head in disagreement. "You're a lie."_

_The other Harry shook his own head in response. _

"_They ignored Cedric's death, they ignored the Dark Lord's rising power…and they ignored _you. _And what did the Order do? Kept you out of harm's way like a good little Chosen One. You're supposed to save the world, not hide at Privet Drive like some scared little first-year!"_

_He paused to give off a burst of harsh laughter. "What do THEY know about courage, about loyalty? Nothing! The Order's afraid of the Ministry, and the Ministry's afraid of you. Pfft. Pitiful. All they could do was stand there, and then run when the Ministry finally decided to poke their nose in something they didn't want to smell in the first place, while Sirius fell through the veil. Damned werewolf lowlife—"_

"SHUT UP!!_"_

_The other Harry chuckled. _

"_I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, Harry. The time for denial is over. Ron's left your side for Mr. Malfoy's, and Hermione didn't want to tell you anything. None of the professors did. They even went so far as to stop you from saving his life…hmph, not that it's anything worth saving__. There's no one you can trust now—except for a select few…"_

_He stopped and smiled, though a touch of malice was still hidden within it._

"_And there's someone I especially have in mind."_

"_Who?" the real Harry heard himself ask._

"_Draco. We can trust him, _and_ we can use him to our advantage. The used will finally be the user…and he's not so thrilled about Ron and his father being together either."_

"_Why Malfoy?"_

_  
"You might say…the circumstances are as such that the world's been turned upside-down. And if the world's been turned upside-down, we might as well play stupid like everyone else and walk on the ceiling. Draco's the only person we can turn to. Weasley and Granger are lost causes."_

_It looked as if the other Harry wanted to say more, but then another, louder voice interrupted their conversation. It was concerned, calling out his name. Gravity was beginning to press down on his invisible body. Those voices…they sounded as if they were coming from the "outside", wherever that mysterious realm was. The other Harry offered one more affirming smirk and disappeared as the pitch-black walls surrounding them became infected with light, growing brighter and brighter._

"_Get to Draco Malfoy, by _any _means necessary..._any_..."_

…His lids fluttered, struggling to decide if they wanted to stay closed or not. There was soft candlelight, the ceiling a neutral shade. The air was chilly, but not of an uncomfortable frigidity. Ironic...he vaguely remembered a terribly hot sensation simmering inside his heart, stomach and head, as if someone unscrewed his top and poured a pot of boiling water inside of him, and it was only now beginning to cool down. He felt slightly ill.

"Mr. Potter…Mr. Potter, can you hear me? Hmm, still isn't responding…must still be groggy from the treatment."

It was the voice of a man he never met before; he sounded as if he was in his early thirties. But the next person to speak—Harry knew him very well. A sudden burst of that same boiling water returned the minute that voice fell onto his ears, but Harry instinctively pushed it back into the pit of his stomach, trying desperately to control it, and the resulting backlash nearly made him retch.

"So is the Elixir coming to its full effects?"

"Judging by the information the Order provided for me, I can't make an accurate report just yet. But from what we've observed so far, we _do_ know that memory loss tends to occur, though we won't know if it's a consistent pattern for sure until he wakes up this second time. It's evident the episodes themselves are growing more and more violent, and he also seems to be going into deeper sleeps. The last time he was brought in, he slept for about five hours with sedation. Now it's been eight hours and counting. We've also noted that the _Petrificus Totalus_ spell has a sort of calming effect, so long as the patient isn't brought out of it immediately. This Miss Granger may've been on to something. However—"

The speaker, who turned out to be an anonymous male Healer, then paused hesitantly in the middle of his prognosis. He only spoke again when he was spurned on by Lupin.

"Yes?"

"There's something going on that's inconsistent with the data given to us by your organization," he finally confessed. "You're guessing that Potter was fed the Malefecium Elixir some time between mid-September and early October, correct?"

There was no response heard, but seeing as how the Healer continued with his explanation, Lupin had most likely nodded instead.

"Even given that broad time slot, if the effects take hold around three months, that means the progression of the Elixir is happening at a much quicker speed than average," the man in white explained, "so there may be a few exceptions, and if that's the case, then Mr. Potter's behavior will be all the more impossible to predict. If you think _this_ would be the best course of action, our staff could…well…have you considered admitting him to the Closed Ward?"

"Out of the question!" a new, grating voice interrupted, sounding above all else appalled, and Harry distinctly heard a second pair of footsteps. "The Chosen One? _Committed to the Closed Ward_? The Ministry and the Daily Prophet would have a field day, not to mention He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! We'd have total panic on our hands, just like when he first came to power!"

"We agree with you, Alastor," an exasperated female voice piped up, "but it can't be any better for us to release him back into Hogwarts, knowing he could attack any more of his friends at any moment."

Wait. Wasn't that—?

"P-p-Professor…"

Everyone in the room suddenly became silent, making certain they heard a weak little whisper come from the bed. As he requested, Professor Mills was the first to appear in his field of vision.

"Mr. Potter? How do you feel?"

"Queasy…" he complained.

"Do you want us to get you a pan?"

Harry flopped his head back and forth on the pillow, strands of matted hair covering his scar.

"Do you remember anything that happened in the past few hours?"

Harry paused, groping his memory for an answer. He didn't want to go too deep, afraid to rediscover that other side of himself.

But then he uncovered something even more terrible.

"_HERMIONE?! Oh God, what happened to her?!! I—!_"

Harry shot straight up and immediately began to hyperventilate, but Professor Mills promptly tapped him not-so-lightly on the cheek with the back of her hand.

"Harry. Harry!" she ordered sternly. "Calm down! Hermione's fine. I must tell you, though, neither she nor Ron are at Hogwarts anymore, and you may not be either, for a time."

"Where are th—"

Harry then stopped and answered his own question. If HE was in danger, then if Hogwarts no longer proved to be safe and Privet Drive was unthinkable, where would he go?

"The Burrow."

The room then briefly lapsed into silence. Whether the silence was agreeing with him or standing around uncomfortably like the rest of the adults in here, Harry wasn't certain.

Surprisingly, the first one to speak up again was the Healer, who had actually been addressing Lupin, but was talking out loud for the benefit of everyone.

"This was one of the exceptions I mentioned earlier. Going back through its history, whenever a wizard or witch was afflicted by the Elixir, there would be increasing memory loss, but apparently Mr. Potter's actually regaining. If this continues, he may begin remembering his attacks."

"I don't know if that's good or bad news," Professor Mills said flatly.

"My thoughts exactly," the Healer responded. "This clash of conscious and subconscious could result in either one of two outcomes. The first is that his conscience will eventually attempt to stop himself when he flies into another fit of rage, with the slim chance that his will alone could purge the Elixir completely, or…"

Another hesitant pause. Moody raised his one functional brow.

"Or," the man continued, "that same clash could cause considerable psychological damage."

"To…what level?" Lupin asked cautiously.

"I can't say, but I suppose it could be anywhere from moderate to severe. Even with treatment, there's also a high risk of irreversibility. Mr. Moody, do you remember when that team of Aurors brought in the Longbottoms some years back?" Without even waiting for an answer, the Healer nodded. "_That _severe."

Moody grunted understandably, and another fog of uncertainty settled around the room.

"So we have three choices: he dies, he goes insane…or he can fight this," he stated blatantly, but there was a touch of strong emotion in his voice that neither Lupin nor Umira had heard before.

"Don't get sentimental on us now," Mills spat out. "Of course it'll be the third choice. Things are going to be just fine."

"Is any of this sudden optimism based on some of your 'premonitions'?"

Mills turned around, her face disappearing before Harry's eyes, and narrowed her own, squeezing them so tightly that the amethysts in them nearly shattered. Whatever thoughtwave she sent to Moody, he shuddered and backed off, but she wasn't done with him yet.

"I know things'll be fine because they _will_ be. Sometimes all you can do in a situation like this is be optimistic. Wouldn't hurt if you actually tried it once in a while, what with you and your 'constant vigilance'."

She sighed, signaling an end to her quiet tirade. "So what are we going to tell Dumbledore?"

Lupin sighed and turned to the male Healer, waiting for an answer.

"There's not much else to report. Another thing to consider is how frequent the attacks will occur. It was once believed the time frames between each attack simply shrunk until the rage finally became nothing more than second nature, but it's been found that another trigger could be when the subject disagrees with someone who's usually close to them, or they observe behavior that usually contradicts that person's normal routine and they call it out. Mr. Potter's more likely a case of the latter. Even with the rapidity the Elixir's currently running at, a mere two-day lapse is unheard of. Do you wish for us to keep observing him here?"

That question brought on the longest silence of all. Moody's electric blue eye rolled around in its socket until it fell to rest within the vicinity of Harry, although his real eye was pointed directly at Lupin, who looked inexplicably torn on the issue. Mills' face relaxed and dug into her pocket, pulling out a pack of Tarot cards.

"Do you always carry around cards?"

"It's not like I wait around for earth-shattering moments like these to give divinations. This pack in particular, the celestial-themed set…they're also my amulets," Mills responded to Moody's question.

Using no more than two fingers and a thumb from one hand and one finger from the other, she began shuffling and flipping them with the expertise of a veteran poker player. Her eyes were suddenly glossed over, lost in contemplation. The purple and navy-blue speckled backs of the cards blurred to make a celestial sky of their own. Harry was already sick and visually sensitive, and this fascinating display wasn't helping matters.

Two minutes later, two cards escaped from the turbulence and landed in her left hand. The rest were straightened up, patted down, and slipped back into her robe pocket before anyone had time to say anything.

"We do or we don't: that's what these two represent," she said, waving them in front of everyone's face. "If we get an okay for the latter, I'll pull one more."

She pulled one card out from between her first and middle fingers and twirled it around.

"The Devil: Lucifer as Venus, the Morning Star. Ravage, distress, violence, and wrestling inner demons—no pun intended," she stated humorlessly.

"Which choice is that?"

"…If we keep him."

Mills immediately pulled the second one and turned it around—and her face twisted into confusion.

"Knight of Cups: Orion, the Admired Hunter. It's reversed," she whispered. "Fraud, trickery, artifice."

"A no-win situation," Moody summed up. "I could've told you that."

Mills rolled her eyes and continued her explanation. "We bring him back to Hogwarts, we risk the chance of another attack. But we'd only be gratifying Voldemort—" (the Healer in the corner briefly flinched at this point) "—if we stash him in the Closed Ward."

Without looking, she rummaged through her pocket and pulled out one last card.

"The Hanged Man: Castor and Pollux, As One Assists The Other. Responsibility and sacrifice. My intuition directs my attention to the actual image in particular, so it could also mean a single person or body of persons who embody those characteristics…that meaning—?"

"The Order," Lupin cut in. "It seems like a sound choice, but none of us have medical expertise. We'll take Harry in, but only on the condition that he receives extra assistance."

"If I go through all the necessary procedures, I'm sure the higher-ups here at St. Mungo's won't mind if I come along. This _is_ a special case, after all. Whatever I can do for the war against You-Know-Who, I'm willing to help."

"We appreciate it." Mills paused again; the ensuing silence didn't seem right to her. She looked back at Harry to see that he had collapsed back onto the pillow and fell asleep again.

"Poor thing's exhausted," she whispered with a touch of sympathy. "Let's let him rest."

She rose from the bed and left the room, closely followed by Moody, Lupin, and the male Healer. Out in the hallway, it was a bit more dim-lit. Moody took out his glass eye and rubbed it vigorously against his sleeve, muttering something obscene about the sudden changes in light intensity.

"You two go ahead and inform Dumbledore," Mills said. "How soon exactly do we want Harry to be moved?"

"Before those damned brown-noses at the Daily Prophet find this out, I know that much," Moody growled, carefully putting his eye back in.

"It shouldn't take that long for us to stabilize Mr. Potter. We'll have him ready when you give us the word," the Healer assured, and with that the two other men disappeared from the wing. Mills sighed—a sigh of mixed contentment and released anxiety—and turned to the male Healer.

"You sure you can be referred to us? You _are_ one of the best Healers here, and we _are_ not officially supposed to exist."

"I won't mention the Order. This is all being done through Dumbledore as far as I'm concerned. My eyes and ears will be closed to Grimmauld Place."

Mills raised an eyebrow, lowered it, then pressed her lips together.

"You think I'm wrong for censoring you? We can't go into this headfirst, Deberan. We leak information, little by little, and even all that will only add up to half the facts. Everyone wants to impress their superior with vast knowledge, but what impresses them more is common sense. He doesn't mind how long it takes, as long as the scoreboard's always in his favor. Besides, I still have some damage control to do on my side, and I can't afford to do anything rash now."

"Where _is_ that boy, by the way?"

Mills held up a single finger. "You and anyone else who wants to know will know that when it's important. He's our best trump card right now. We can't use him too early."

"Who could we possibly play _him_ against?"

Mills looked at him incredulously. "_Everyone_, of course! But as I said, that's strictly on a need-to-know basis. So you say you'll have Potter ready soon?"

"Twenty-four, thirty-six hours at best."

"Wonderful."

The red-haired young woman turned to leave, but she didn't make it six steps before Deberan called out to her one more time.

"Umira…you're not getting too caught up in your role, are you? I may have another side to me as well, but one of them _is_ an officiated Healer, and for that I _can_ say that after this second attack, anything's possible. I shouldn't have a heart for them, but this Elixir is on a completely different level. Putting him back in the Order is more risky than the both of us being there."

"I won't say I was confident with that reading as I usually am, what with Alastor staring me down the whole time. Either way, it doesn't matter to me, as long as the loose ends that are left are ones we can tie back up. Two pieces of advice for these coming weeks: keep your eyes on me…and keep your eyes on Lucius Malfoy."

(End Chap. 43)

Ron: (looks around) It's the end of the chapter and the Doc still hasn't come back.

(I suddenly tiptoe in quietly, carrying Plushie in one hand. A giant tranquilizer dart is stuck in his stomach.)

Me: Sssh. He's sleeping. Once you get past that one frightening moment when I shot him and Plushie came spiraling down the Capitol Building along with "the Button", and it ALMOST fell on the ground, button-side, but then it flipped again at the last moment and fell down safely but then _Plushie_ was going to fall on "the Button", but then I remembered that he doesn't weigh no more than a ounce...whew! For a second, I felt like James Bond. (places him carefully in one of the chairs) So what'd I miss?

Draco: Only everything.

Me: (takes out the trusty newspaper and whacks him with it) Big help…and nice try, but I wrote it before I left, dummy-doody.

Plushie: (drools)

Lucius: What does she mean, "keep your eyes on me"?

Me: Did you forget you're a main character? We're ALL keeping our eyes on you. Let's see what you do next! (bugs her eyes out and stands REALLY close to him, looking at him)

Lucius: Stop that! (tries to run, but I chase him)

Me: You cannot hide from The Eyes! Mwaahahahahahahahaaaaaaa!!


	44. Advise and Repent

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: Damn my oversight! _Damn it to the eighth-and-a-half rectangle of Hell!_

Draco: What are you cursing about so vehemently now?

Me: I've been doing more backtracking when I realized I had the dates and days wrong since Chapter 33! People may not have noticed, but I pride myself on being a perfectionist, so I fixed it immediately, and I changed the title of Chapter 38 (formerly "Minerva McGonagall's Determination"). As an extra note to my readers, once we hit the Fiftieth Chapter I'll be doing a total overhaul. Nothing big; just some fixer-uppers. Also, there'll be some fun facts to let you see into our crazy world. The story's only almost halfway over, but with Harry Potter itself coming to a close, isn't it a good time as any to reminisce?

Ron: Ah yes…those were the days.

Lucius: What days? I didn't come in until Chapter Ten!

Plushie: And _I _didn't come in until Chapter Fifteen!

Harry: And no one noticed me until Chapter Twenty-Three!

Me: _WHATEVER! ­_(everyone cringes) Anyway, time's been crawling slowly as well. We're only as far as the early morning of October 26th, and I have to get to Christmas by the big Five-Oh. Also, the **LAST HARRY POTTER BOOK**— (thunder crashes, a baby screams, crows caw, water boils, and glass shatters)

Harry: …Okay…

Me: Yeeeahh…um…and the ending-of-a-popular-book-series-that-will-not-be-specified will be out in a few days. But as I said, book compatibility was never much of an issue. Whatever happens, if it seems useful to my own story, I'll use it. But I will say this: if Draco dies, there will be hell to pay. HELL AND ALL ITS NINE CIRCLES AND RECTANGLES AND DODECAHEDRONS!

Plushie: Right…as we find out what 'dodecahedron' means and I serve my eleventy-billion hours of community service, you all out there can read on. Rolling!

(Begin Chap. 44)

…It was quiet throughout the narrow streets and dilapidated houses of Little Hangleton. And also, as always, so was the desolate landscape surrounding the supposedly abandoned Riddle House.

Private as the residents were, it had long since been noticed that Frank Bryce, the groundskeeper who once lived there, hadn't been seen in his shack for quite some time. There was a lot of speculation about what happened to him among the townspeople, including "death by natural causes", but in the end they let it be and continued on with their meager existences. The point was that, either way, the old man had finally gained enough sense to leave. Even an kept lawn wouldn't have saved that place.

However, the interior was a completely different atmosphere.

It had taken quite a bit of persuasion on her part, but Bellatrix had to use all she had to convince Voldemort she hadn't been a fellow conspirator in Narcissa's plan. Cowardice and holding a value for her own life, someone would probably say, but honestly, she had no idea Narcissa would be foolhardy enough to pull off a scheme like _that_. As a result, she laid low for the past few weeks. Needless to say, this raised the eyebrows of Pettigrew, and he simply began following her movements all the more closely.

As if things hadn't been quiet enough, neither one had heard either hide or hair from Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, or Umira Mills for a couple of days. Snape and Mills they understood; they were undercover, though Mills was clearly the more secretive of the two, but Voldemort would've at least mentioned _something_.

Malfoy, on the other hand…

After all the hearsay flying around the Death Eaters' innumerable cliques, it was expected that he would've surfaced from wherever he was hiding and done something to either negate or support those rumors; his pride wouldn't have allowed it any other way. This in mind, so far all that Voldemort's forces had been busying themselves with were simple recruiting matters—or not so simple, depending on whom or what they were trying to recruit (right now the vampires were proving to be a challenge.)

It wasn't exactly as if the Death Eaters were clamoring for some action, though. After last year's escapades and this past summer's raid on Diagon Alley, it was actually a rare pleasure to sit down and twiddle one's thumbs.

After this night, however, thumb-twiddling would become nothing more than a memory.

…The night before All Hallow's Eve, green flames burst forth from the parlor's fireplaces on the first floor of the Riddle House, and out stepped Lucius. His eyes narrowed, allowing him to adjust to the dank gloom. Out of the blue, the Dark Lord had requested an audience with him the night before. What had been even more shocking was that the meeting hadn't been arranged through Pettigrew—a direct request. Usually Lucius would have been either elated or horrified. He didn't even want to speak to him for five seconds, he despised the rat Animagus so much, but he was actually disappointed this time. For his plan to work, Pettigrew would be—dare he say it?—necessary.

Relying partly on memory and partly on sensing what the bottom of his cane hit, he climbed the creaking, dusty stairs that led to a smaller, cloistered room on one of the higher floors. When he reached the landing, he tapped the cane on the wall and scraped it ever so softly across as he walked down the narrow, pitch black corridor. Halfway down he lifted his cane from the wall, as a faint light coming from a crack in a barely-opened door finally revealed the floor.

At the door he stopped and waited…and waited…and continued waiting.

"_Wormtail. Let Malfoy in_," a slithering voice commanded.

There was a pattering of feet, and then the door opened wider to reveal a short, chubby-cheeked man with curly hair and bucked teeth. He stepped to the side and sneered up at Malfoy, who returned it with a displeased scowl, caught himself, and walked in.

He had to keep Ron in mind. Anything could happen now. Every move was crucial.

He just hoped Snape had done his job. He could only assume so; otherwise he wouldn't be here.

In front of him stood a tall, elegant-looking chair placed strategically before the fireplace—no one had to tell him who was sitting in it. A large snake was coiled around the legs of the chair, occasionally hissing quietly, but no threatening ones towards Lucius. Nagini had seen him enough to know he wasn't a danger towards her master.

Malfoy went over to kneel before his serpentine master, taking extra care not to step on Nagini. Glowing red slits bored down on him.

"_I've received word concerning the Malefecium Elixir, as well as suspicious activity at Hogwarts. Is there anything you know that can validate this?_"

"Yes, my lord. When I traveled up to the school to inquire about Weasley, I got an interesting reaction from the professors. I'm well aware there's no trust between us, but they would've just as soon risked his life than done what was best for his well-being. Even Dumbledore said that I was within my rights to take Weasley back. Whether it was an implication that he shared my opinion, I cannot say."

He heard Voldemort take a distinct intake of breath. He seemed interested. So far, so good...

"There can be only two explanations for this behavior. The first could just be their paranoia—to take their chances with Potter rather than me. But that raised the question of why, which I believe was answered when I spoke to Weasley in the hospital ward...he gave me the impression that he knew about the Elixir."

It was with this comment that, for two seconds, Voldemort stopped breathing.

Bingo.

For an explanation in short, Ron, of course, was to serve as nothing more than collateral until the money to pay Zabini was delivered. Both Malfoy and Zabini had been told not to reveal anything about the Malefecium Elixir to him, so as the plan to slip it to Harry wouldn't be compromised so early in its stages of development. Underestimating their information-gathering capabilities, the Death Eaters had surmised that the Order wouldn't know all that much—if anything—about the Elixir, either. That, after all, was top-secret information and a relatively obscure subject even within the Dark Arts, almost on par with Horcruxes. Voldemort wanted Harry's psyche to deteriorate quickly, with no impediments whatsoever. His turning on his friends was simply a bonus; the real reason for the Elixir was so that the already-thin barrier between his mind and Harry's would break down completely.

In short, no one outside of a chosen few was supposed to know of the Elixir. Someone knowing was a major threat.

And threats had to be terminated.

"_That would explain the risks they so foolishly chose to take. Mills has told me there had been a bit of information she had to leak in order to further gain the school's trust, but Severus also told me that there is strong evidence they were aware of the Elixir beforehand._"

An excruciatingly long pause, and then…

"_You know what this necessitates._"

He nodded, loose golden strands getting in the way of his eyes.

"_Do you know where the Weasley boy is?_"

"His parents arrived at Hogwarts the day after I did. There was talk that he would be sent back with them instead. We just need confirmation."

Voldemort stayed silent as he pondered this, the crackling of the fire being the only thing breaking the silence.

"_Wormtail._"

The mouse-faced man ran up beside Lucius so fast, for a second the blond wondered why Apparating was necessary in so small a room.

"_Send a message to Mills and ask for authorization on the Weasley boy's movements, but take care. With what we're learning now, any idiotic mistake you make will cost me. Fetch Lestrange, as well…she is past overdue for proving her worth_," he ordered.

Wormtail bowed subserviently and rushed out of the room, leaving Malfoy alone, but not for long.

"_Malfoy, return to the manor. I'll call on you as needed._"

That was his cue to leave. Malfoy bowed in the same fashion as Wormtail and left the room.

…Later that night…

Pettigrew was back at Voldemort's side, this time accompanied by an excitable Bellatrix. Nagini had slid over to the other side of the room, as she decided a couple of hours ago that the heat radiating from the fireplace's grate was overheating her blood.

"_Do you understand the mission?_"

The two Death Eaters nodded.

"_As soon as I obtain the information I need from Mills, we will arrange for an attack on the Burrow—_if _that is where they're keeping Weasley. I don't expect Weasley to put up much of a fight; he still has yet to graduate from Hogwarts and he's proven himself to be incompetent in the past…so I won't tolerate failure, either._"

"We won't, my lord," Lestrange assured, her head leaning towards the ground even more.

"_One spell. That is all that'll be required of you_."

They nodded again, but this time more hesitantly.

"…_Malfoy believes me to be a fool…but his overzealousness to put the past behind him will always be his undoing. He forgot too soon about his wife's death._"

Bellatrix almost started, then caught herself and tried to look disinterested. She wondered...was he talking about…?

"_Malfoy believes we are merely going to capture the Weasley boy and interrogate him, and that he will not be further involved in this affair. However, I will call him back before the mission begins, and you two will accompany him. Then we will see…if he is truly loyal to me—_"

Wormtail and Bellatrix looked up to their lord, smirking.

"—_he'll kill Weasley himself._"

…At the same time, in the dungeons of Hogwarts, Mills stood in front of the open door leading into Professor Snape's storehouse, on the verge of stamping her foot impatiently, but she didn't dare. Nearly every sound echoed off the stone walls down here. Even the simple sound of glass bottles clanking against each other as Snape pored over his seemingly endless stock was shockingly loud.

"Have you found it yet?" she hissed. "You know he doesn't like waiting."

The only thing Snape did in response was turn around (very carefully, as he was on a high rung of a ladder) and scowl at her darkly before continuing with his search. After a while he raised a finger in sudden illumination and changed direction, returning to a lower shelf on the west wall. Sure enough, five seconds later he pulled out a corked, dust-layered bottle from the far back. Inside was a beautiful yellow-amber liquid, air bubbles still trapped within the highly viscous density.

"This should be it. I've never had to use a Memory Potion, let alone one so strong," he muttered. He kept one hand on the ladder as he also pulled out a drawstring bag. "If you're considering feeding this to anyone, mix it with this powdered bloodroot and ice-cold water to dilute the liquid without it losing its potency. If anyone took it straight, they'd experience an unpleasant aftertaste for many hours."

"_I'm _not feeding this to anyone," Mills answered, stepping forward and immediately taking the round-shaped bottle from his outstretched hand. "Lucius is, and if my premonition proves to be right he couldn't possibly get this too soon—"

Snape made what could have only been interpreted to be a growl, stepped down from the ladder, and closed the door of his storehouse.

"You're not even sure of yourself, and yet you're still going along with it? This has to be your most outlandish scheme yet," he criticized. "I wouldn't be surprised if it was nothing more than self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Now, Severus. You just told me a couple of months ago that you trusted my prophecies completely."

"I didn't think we'd be taking such risks in the process."

Mills snorted, but she stifled it at the last second so it sounded more as if she had sneezed. Still, Snape caught the implication.

"And what, pray tell, do you find so hilarious?"

"You said _we're _taking risks, and yet all you're doing is standing behind me and complaining like you usually do," she pointed out, even going so far as to literally point a finger three inches in front of his face. "No one asked you to be involved with me, but you're watching everyone like we're staging some sort of play. What makes you keep watching? Are you just bored? Or, Merlin forbid, you're actually concerned about one of the actor's lives?"

"A part of it is boredom, I suppose," Snape answered dryly, stepping out of the way of her finger.

"A part?"

"Dumbledore hasn't done anything interesting as of late, so there's been nothing worth reporting to his lordship. Another reason, if you want me to be so intimate with my thoughts, could be this."

"Please share," Mills requested cynically.

"I told Lucius once before that he could go ahead and kill himself following his own passions if he wished, but he isn't much for rallying people to his cause, nor he is one to actually follow that sort of advice. I've never seen you act this way before either, so it must be for a logical reason. Whether something will actually become of this or whether you're simply going insane…I want to discover the answer for myself."

Mills smiled and turned to leave.

"Be my guest. Whether I'm right or not, it'll prove to be rather entertaining, won't it?"

…And finally, also at the same time, the most important actor in this ongoing drama had nothing else to do but lay awake in his bed, waiting for his part. Lucius had sent him no word, and now he was obsessing over every possible scenario which might've delayed his response. He hated himself for thinking such negative thoughts, but with Voldemort, everything was possible.

A soft tapping suddenly came from his window. Ron sat up and was nearly blinded from staring through the window; the moon wasn't completely full, but it was large enough to catch an unwary gazer in its moonlight. Silhouetted in the silvery light was a large eagle owl with a letter clutched in its talons.

Wait. An eagle owl?

Ron rushed over to the window and opened it. The eagle owl didn't go much farther than the bed, immediately dropping the letter on his pillow and gliding back out.

Ron was so excited, closing the window wasn't anywhere near the top of his priority list. He scooped up the letter and unfolded it. Surprisingly it was unsigned, only a sentence long, and without much imagination or deeper meaning; nevertheless this didn't stop him from rereading it over and over again.

_Whoever is with you, make sure they're not there by Halloween's Eve. Expect __anything._

It didn't take Ron long to figure out that the reasoning behind the unorthodox format of the letter was for safety purposes. He refolded the note and began to wear it out with his shaky fingers. Absentmindedly, he peered at the door, knowing what was beyond it. His parents, Hermione—they were all asleep, unsuspecting.

He hoped all this would be worth it.

(End Chap. 44)

Me: Makes you wanna jump, doesn't it? The Plan will be next!

Plushie, Ron, and Lucius: Yay! Future action! (Draco and Harry groan.)

Me: Most likely, the next chapter will be published after the **LAST HARRY POTTER BOOK**—(thunder crashes, a baby screams, crows caw, water boils, and glass shatters) Will it STOP doing that?! Anyway, the next chapter will be out after the ending-of-a-popular-book-series-that-will-not-be-specified is. The "spoiler-free" policy sounds so over-the-top, but I hate a spoiler just as much as anyone else. Therefore, the next chapter will go down in history as the first (and hopefully the ONLY) chapter with NO MUSES IN IT.

All 5: _WHAT?!!! You son-of-a—!!!_

Me: Well, if I make any jokes or certain muses don't speak, then people who didn't read the book will be guessing like crazy as to its "deeper implications", and no one wants that. On the positive side, I'm sending you all on a vacation to Hawaii! Have fun!

All 5: Yay! (enter a random dimensional portal leading to Hawaii that suddenly popped up)

Me: (wipes brow) Who CAN'T resist a vacation to Hawaii? Let's just hope Plushie doesn't fall into a volcano. Next is a chapter you've all been waiting for! "The Plan" will soon be enacted, and Ron returns to the Malfoy Manor...God willing. (laughs evilly)


	45. Expect Anything

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

(The Good Doc is sitting in the corner, reading the—)

Me: **NO!** If I hear those effing sound effects again…(sees audience) Oh, hello. As you can see, my muses are gone, and for good reason. Afraid you'll have to wait 'til next chapter for their crazy antics. (And dammit, I'm still not done with the book!) But now I finally have the text space to make some acknowledgements. (takes out a long roll of parchment)

Me Two: I'm so close to my 200th review, and with that I'm grateful to all of you who've stayed with me, as JKR is grateful to all of us who spent nights sleeping outside closed bookstores. In fact, my story was recently inducted into another C2—thanks, Mini.Naura! (Also, the other C2 my story's in has changed hands. It's now called "Pirates…and Not the Kind That Travel the Seven Seas", managed by beccamint17. Go check out all the HP slashy goodness!)

Me Three: I also got what was definitely my longest review ever by JaceDamian23. That's wild how people take the time to point out what they do or don't like; it lets me know how I can make my fic better! On that note, thus far "Black and Deep Desires" has been my most popular fanfic, period, made into 32 readers' Fave Story and tagged for 33 Alerts. I'm so touched, I guess it's all the "end of the book series" sentimentality going around— (suddenly a portal opens up, and Plushie comes out wearing a tiny _lei_.)

Plushie: I hate to interrupt this pathetic display of emotion, but— (I run over and push him back through the hole)

Me Four: YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN HAWAII, DAMMIT!! (turns to the audience) Oh no…_the time-space continuum has been compromised!!_ AHHH! (runs around in circles before passing out)

Plushie: Um…yes. Anyway, satisfy your curiosity before you end up like her. (points) You never saw me. (picks up the remote, clicks, and disappears back into the portal)

(Begin Chap. 45)

…The aroma of a cooking breakfast downstairs stimulated Ron's nose, rousing him to consciousness.

The moonlight that had blinded him the previous night was replaced by shafts of a grayish-blue hue that remotely resembled light filtering through the window. It was only around eight-thirty, and already the day was living up to the ghastly holiday it resided beside. Usually the faintest traces of sun could be seen flowing through the window from the east; today it was as if it had never existed. Strong winds shook the fragile glass panes, warning against possible rain. The lump in one of the room's beds moaned softly, blinked, and turned over.

It had been Ron's first night away from Hogwarts—especially in the middle of the school term; it would take him a while to adjust to the change. Aside from that and the weather, this morning didn't feel especially strange or foreboding…

Except…

As Ron turned over again, he heard a crinkling of paper. Startled, he felt around the bed until his fingers encountered the texture of stiff paper underneath his back. He picked up the wrinkled parchment and brought it around to his field of vision…and his eyes widened. How could he forget about this so quickly?

He shot straight up and unfolded the note, reading it one last time.

_Whoever is with you, make sure they're not there by Halloween's Eve. Expect __anything._

"Expect anything…" he echoed, pushing away strands of hair from his face. He continued staring at the paper as if he had just been issued a death sentence.

It wasn't just the note. The whole past week had felt unreal, an illusion made by time and unlucky circumstances. It seemed that the note was supposed to give proof of his secret trysts with Lucius Malfoy and the uncharacteristically extreme ends to which he had kept them private, but it only made him feel even more disillusioned. Was this _really_ worth it? Was all this sneaking around with Draco's father just a subconscious desire to prove his friends wrong for once? Besides, this was a matter in which being right would make all the difference. If he wasn't, what would be in store for his family, his friends—or himself, for that matter? Could he handle it?

It was the Pensieve test all over again.

A call from downstairs—traveling upward—woke him a second time.

"Ron? Ron, are you dressed?" Hermione called. He wasn't sure, but he could swear he then heard her mutter, "Is he even _awake_?"

Ron panicked, then calmed down a second later when he realized Hermione still wasn't anywhere near the landing on his floor. Still, he rushed to hide the note in his dresser, under a haphazardly stacked pile of old issues of _Marvin the Mad Muggle_, then attack another drawer to find something to wear. When he stopped shaking enough and regained control of his vocal chords, he answered back, "Yeah, I'm dressing right now."

A final 'creak', then the stairs stopped making their racket and retreated back into the faintest of noises echoing from the kitchen. Ron sighed and pulled out one of his numerous maroon sweaters—and stopped—and then pulled it all the way out. Yes, it would be chilly in the manor, especially with winter approaching.

"Well, with all those bloody fireplaces…I don't know about the parlor, though; he rarely lets me in there….I wonder why," he argued against himself, briefly letting the sweater slip from his mind, and allowing Lucius Malfoy to reenter…

"_There's a difference between meaningless sex and actually putting heart and soul into the process. If you want to take the risk and be my lover, you'll learn the difference soon enough. Right now, what is expected of you is nothing more than a mere duty. The question is, do you want to make it more than that?"_

"…_Meaningless the sex remains to be, but there have been times when you witnessed mercy, and one day you'll truly see what it means to be my lover…"_

"_Do you really want to return to the Order, the Burrow, and Harry's side just to be the forgotten sidekick once again, just another sibling of the family? You forget you have someone here who does love you."_

"_My original goal was to give you twelve lashes. As you can see, I couldn't bring myself to do more than half."_

"…_It was sort of a joy to take care of you. You appreciate what I have…I liked seeing you smile…"_

"_I can't be there to dissuade you by any means. We both have to make sure this is real…"_

Ron slipped on his sweater, then hunted around for a pair of dark corduroy pants. All of a sudden, he then flew into a fit of searching, stirring up his already-messy room until he found what he was looking for.

Dragging out an old rucksack from under the bed, Ron turned it upside-down, dumping the contents onto one of many piles of clothes (whether all of them were dirty or not was a complete mystery), before repacking it with a few essentials, only up to half the maximum weight it could hold. The last thing he placed inside…he moved to his school trunk and unlocked it, gradually digging through the layers of clothing and supplies until he happened upon one particular article of clothing: the midnight-blue dress robes Lucius gave him as a gift the day he left. With a painstaking sort of respect he didn't normally give all his other clothes, he carefully folded it and placed it at the top inside the bag.

Now another dilemma: how to put it somewhere where he could easily reach it. Whatever Lucius had planned, he knew things would happen in a way that he would have to move fast. Using his fingers to brush his hair into minimally accepted order, Ron picked up the bag and stepped across the threshold. He crawled down the stairs until, on the second landing, he found the line between the original house and the start of the slapdash carpentry when the family had begun to expand. Ron stuffed it in a niche, hoping desperately that the dirt-colored fabric would camouflage it, and continued on downstairs.

Immediately, Mrs. Weasley met him at the entrance to the kitchen. Staring over her shoulder, Ron could see Hermione already in the middle of breakfast.

But beyond that…through the large kitchen windows, there was a clear view of the backyard and the path leading out to a hill overlooking Ottery St. Catchpole. No chickens were communing in the dirt; even being in the ragged coop was better than being swept away. Anything—or anyone—else, however, he couldn't see.

"Good morning, Ronald…oh, I wish you'd pay more mind to your hair," she chastised, reaching up and patting down his hair further while he stifled a groan. "Well, breakfast is ready, dear."

She ushered him into a chair opposite from Hermione before zipping over to the sink to oversee the floating, self-operating scrubbers. Ron glanced around, for once missing the bustle of the kitchen table usually present in the summer time, especially when Harry arrived. The weather outside only made the fact that everyone was still gone all the more unbearable. He would have made the most of it if Hermione had been a little more lenient in her own habits. It really shouldn't have been much of a surprise, but Ron was still dismayed when, at a closer look, she had a textbook open in front of her, propped up against the sugar bowl. Hermione looked up to greet him, but caught his wary gaze instead.

"Just because we're out of school doesn't mean we shouldn't study," she answered his impending question. When he rolled his eyes, she added quietly, "We can't stop going to Hogwarts altogether. Harry could…he could just as well attack anyone else there as us."

On that note, Ron felt it brave of himself to ask his mother, "Have you heard anything, Mum?"

Mrs. Weasley paused in her flurry of chores (though it was more of a startled twitch) and answered, "Not much. As far as I know, Harry's still at St. Mungo's…poor dear. The Healers thought he'd be best off in the Closed Ward—"

Hermione nearly knocked her book over and gave Ron a strong look, hoping to condense the following question in her glare: "_Are they _mad?". Thinking back, Ron replayed in his mind the experience of walking through that lonesome section of the wizarding hospital with Harry last Christmas, especially since that was around the time Mr. Weasley was attacked by Nagini. The thought of Harry having a room right next to the Longbottoms…it was a sad and bitterly romantic circumstance.

"—I highly doubt they supported the idea," Mrs. Weasley added with an air of finality she often used to let her sons know she meant business. "It's preposterous. It…wouldn't do."

Her face looked absolutely torn at her last words; she too was aware of the scandal that would arise if everyone knew the "Chosen One" was being committed. She didn't want to think of Harry on the brink of insanity, but his inevitable fate of going against Voldemort wasn't so pleasant to her, either.

"Your father's going to see about the Order's decision after work, then we'll see if we can't get you two back to Hogwarts…this means dinner will be a little late," Mrs. Weasley said, muttering the last part under her breath as she started to leave the kitchen. She stopped for a minute more, but only to push the curtains aside.

"It's a bit of a mess out there. I don't think you'll be doing any yard work today, Ronald, but I'm afraid for the chickens—"

The next few seconds then unexpectedly slowed to an agonizing halt.

Ron was facing away from the window, but Mrs. Weasley's earsplitting screech was more than enough to tell that something was wrong. At first, taking a cue from her last words, Ron thought the rough winds had finally conquered the chicken coop. Hermione finally tore away from her book permanently; whatever interesting subject matter it was, it could wait. She stood up and ran over to the window, peering over Mrs. Weasley's shoulder. When she did the exact same thing, Ron got up from his own chair to see what in the world was so frightening.

They, in fact, were justified.

Three cloaked figures off in the distance were strolling down the path from the hill so fast it was as if they were gliding. For a split second, Ron's mind frantically tried to assure itself that Mr. Weasley had come home early with some members of the Order, with urgent (and hopefully good) news about Harry's condition. The next moment, Ron had to face the truth.

Those cloaked figures were wearing masks, wands out at the ready.

Had there been a betrayal somewhere along the line?

Had Lucius…been caught…?

Ron couldn't answer these questions now; there were two women in danger!

Suddenly inspired, he grabbed Mrs. Weasley's and Hermione's wrists and dragged them towards the living room, urging them onward. Once they were in the temporary safety of the cloistered living room, Ron felt around the top of the mantle until he found the bag of Floo Powder they always kept by a tiny, framed picture of Percy—who looked shocked at all the chaos going on and immediately skirted out of the picture. There were no windows in here, so there was no way of knowing how close they were…

"Mum, you and Hermione go to Grimmauld Place! I'll follow you!" Ron shouted, picking his mother up from the couch and leading her into the grate. That confident voice…he couldn't believe it was his own. Where had this courage been all this time?

"_No son of mine is fighting Death Eaters by himself!_" Mrs. Weasley screeched back.

"There's no room for all of us! Just tell the Order, quick!" he argued back.

Yes, that was a surprise. There was no way in hell, in any other universe, that he would've even dared argue with his mother in a situation like this. But Mrs. Weasley was implacable. Ron almost forgot how close he was to her until he felt her hands make a desperate grab for the pouch. Not missing a beat, he jumped out of the way and reached inside it to grab a fistful of glittering powder before throwing it at Mrs. Weasley's feet, screaming almost in a single run-on word, "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!"

"_Ronald—!!_" she yelled back, now reaching for his hand, but the green flames swallowed her before she had a chance to save her son.

Hermione tried to shriek in alarm, but it came out as a timid, yet very loud squeak. Ron looked down at his feet to contemplate what he had just done before clutching the strings of the bag tighter and turned to Hermione with a resolve in his eyes she had only before saw in Harry's.

"Go," he pleaded, firmly placing a mound of sand in her hand, but she gave it back with equal vigor.

"Ron, don't be stupid!" Hermione said harshly, though it was diluted somewhat from the fear and grief in her voice. "I know more advanced defensive spells; _I'll_ follow _you_ out."

"And I save my own arse while you die so Harry can have another go at me?!"

He paused, catching himself, then added in a quieter tone, "If anyone should stay alive to help him, it's you."

Hermione didn't say anything to rebuke that statement, though she wanted to, but her glossy eyes and moist lashes spoke volumes. Then, letting her thoughts take over her body, Hermione lunged forward and hugged him, trying with little success to suppress her sobs. Ron could feel a phantom leg actually kick himself, he was so entrenched in guilt. Besides, if these were in fact fellow Death Eaters who had discovered Lucius's plans and were coming to get him, it was only right that he gave them what they were looking for.

The two were suddenly interrupted when they heard faint shouting. One of the voices sounded as if it were taunting their imminent victims…a female's voice.

Fighting back emotions of his own, Ron forcibly shoved her under the mantle and threw in another handful of Floo Powder, repeating the same directions, this time shutting his eyes. He couldn't bear his last thoughts to be of Hermione crying. Wasting no further time, he ran back to the stairs, ducking low to the floor so as not to arouse further attention. From what he could hear, they were only a step away from the backyard. He reached the landing, grabbed his rucksack, and jumped back down the short flight of stairs, taking out his wand in the process. He didn't even know if he would even need the stupid bag; there was no point anymore. He got it mainly for the wand, but there was some part inside him, still wishing…

Hermione had been right about herself being able to cast more complex enchantments, but all the experience gained during their fifth-year stint in Dumbledore's Army, plus Professor Mills' own hands-on teaching, hadn't slipped his mind entirely.

That damned Pensieve test again.

"_I almost feel regret for this, but this wasn't all on my own accord. All I did was lay the trap. The rest was up to you to decide, and you did so—poorly."_

"_Let me at least grant you that. It is…what did I say in the letter? 'A bad person's greatest joy'?"_

That other Lucius Malfoy, soulless, covered in his blood, buried deep within his worst fears…

Ron couldn't bear that thought, either.

"_Reducto!_"

A deafening blast shook the house which made Ron duck back behind the couch in spite of the fact that it happened one whole room away. The door had indeed been locked, but doing…_that _rather than simply using Alohamora seemed so irrational. Then again, Death Eaters rarely favored the rational.

The rapid clicking of heels. Ron swallowed hard and stood his ground, the grip around his wand tightening so hard he thought the natural waxing would melt off.

Now two things proceeded to happen at once. The first was that Ron spotted a mask-hidden face skid into the living room with wand held high; the second was that a nasty-looking hex flew straight at him. He ducked, only to trip over his own feet, his back hitting the wall; the space between the couch and the fireplace was too small for him to move deftly.

The attacker cackled loudly…that same female voice. With another wave of the wand and a puff of smoke, the mask dissolved to reveal Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Voldemort was right—you aren't much of a duelist," she murmured, an insane grin plastered across her face. She pointed her wand at him again, and Ron flinched, but nothing happened. A bluff.

"Stay right there."

He hadn't noticed, but now that their brief scuff was over, Ron could hear the tramping of more footsteps upstairs, and the continual banging of things being overturned.

"Got any others hiding out in this sty, Weasley?" Bellatrix demanded.

Ron shook his head. Her eyes narrowed, but the sadistic smile stayed as she stepped closer.

"Hmph. Gotta make sure you're not lying…you understand," she said with stomach-turning sweetness, but all that left her voice when she raised her wand and yelled, "_Crucio!_"

The instant sensation was similar to blacking out, but with vestiges of a sense of surroundings, and the feeling of being burned alive and poked with a hundred knitting needles in a hundred different places—all at the same time. Ron still wasn't sure if the voice he was using was his own, even as it was screaming decibels louder than his vocal chords would usually allow.

From far away, he suddenly heard someone coming down the stairs and another voice protest strongly. The minute this new person spoke, miraculously, he was released from the curse. His eyes blurring, Ron sank back to the floor, making guttural moans and whimpers. Even after he fully regained his hearing, it was still a while before the low, fatherly voice of Lucius Malfoy brought him back from his reverie.

"Enough, Bella. We found no one else."

The dark-haired woman scowled and dropped her arms at her sides, both at the fact that someone other than her late sister had used her nickname and that he interrupted her "fun". To her left, a short, squat man squeezed his way into the room and removed his own mask.

"The other two probably ran crying to the Order; there's Floo Powder everywhere," Bellatrix muttered spitefully. She turned to Pettigrew. "Let's get it done, then. One spell, he said."

No one, including Ron, missed the twitch in Lucius's brow just then. Even from the moment he saw his face, Ron had a feeling he hadn't been expecting to tag along at all.

"I thought we were taking him to be questioned," Lucius whispered, a hint of menace in his voice. "As if it wasn't ludicrous enough I had to come oversee you two—"

His sentence was cut short when both Bellatrix and Wormtail raised their wands—not at Ron, but at Lucius himself. Ron crouched low, his eyes wide. Okay, _nothing_ about this was adding up.

"What is this?" Lucius demanded.

"Not even a _funeral_!" Bellatrix screeched, moving her wand closer to his face. "She may've crossed Voldemort, but Cissy deserved a better death, and she damn well deserved a better _husband_! Haven't you even noticed that ever since you took that…that _brat_ hostage, ever since Cissy was killed, you've lost the Dark Lord's trust?! And me…"—and at this point she scoffed—"well, I _never_ trusted you."

She directed her wand back towards the redhead cowering in the corner, and Pettigrew thought it a good time as any to chime in.

"However, he has said you could get back in his good graces…too forgiving, his lordship."

He lowered his wand towards Lucius's own silver snake-head cane, then directed it back to the corner of the living room.

"The Killing Curse, Malfoy. If you're…_truly_ loyal, you'll say it—"

"Or _I_ will. On the both of you," Bellatrix interrupted, throwing a particularly venomous glare at Ron. As to the redhead in question, midway past Bellatrix's rant he realized in full what was going on, but apparently they had yet to fit the last piece of the puzzle. Apparently this little squabble had more to do with Narcissa than with Ron…or maybe they were equally to blame. Ron remembered the vast Black family tree, and how Lestrange and Mrs. Malfoy were close sisters. But Bellatrix just said that she had never trusted Lucius.

So it seemed, that even within a trusted circle of "purebloods", there was no love lost.

But all this he could muddle over later—if there was a later.

Bellatrix may've been angry before, but that was nothing compared to the brimstone spewing forth from Mr. Malfoy's eyes. However, to Ron's utter dismay, he sidestepped away from Bellatrix's wand and began walking towards the couch, separating his wand from his cane, raising it to chest height. The other two kept their eyes and wands on him from behind.

Ron looked up, meeting his eyes with his soon-to-be murderer, though it wasn't the bravest expression he had worn. So many thoughts…so many times had his friends—and nearly everyone else who knew—warned him…

"_We know __you__ wouldn't do anything to betray us. It's Mr. Malfoy we want to be careful of. Are you sure he wasn't nice just to win your trust?"_

"_Lucius is forty-four years old! Mr. Weasley's only sixteen! And Mr. Malfoy has proven to be a former—if not a current—Death Eater! You don't consider that a threat?"_

"_Malfoy only said what he did to get under my skin, I'm sure. But, if I do find out you've been lying this whole time, it won't be Malfoy you'll have to worry about. I don't spare anyone working for the Dark Lord…even if they are my best friend."_

"_You lied when you came back, you lied on the train, and you lied to me—__in my face__—at the Owlery! When are you going to stop lying?! Don't you know you're putting everyone in serious trouble?"_

"_That promise meant nothing to him. Are you really going to put your life into the hands on Mr. Malfoy? No rejection is worth that!"_

"…_You work for them now, don't you? Malfoy and Voldemort and Pettigrew and all those other bastards! You're a traitor!! Admit it!"_

Lucius moved his lips soundlessly. Ron closed his eyes.

And in the next instant, he was reminded of another memory.

"_He speaks the truth, fantastic though it sounds."_

A bright light went off, illuminating the entire living room. Stars exploded in Ron's eyelids, he was so terrified—so much, in fact, that he completely ignored the fact that he was still alive, and shut his eyes tighter and covered his ears. Wormtail shouted and Bellatrix screamed, then a short stream of cursing as Ron never heard or used, then a furious yet brief exchange of hexes, more cursing, small crashes and explosions everywhere.

Silence...then more silence.

Ron was shaking all over, his eyes still shut. Someone was rapidly approaching him, and he had no idea who it was.

A firm hand grabbed his arm and pulled him up on his feet. Boldly, he dared to open one eye…

And stared straight into the face of Lucius.

"What—?" Ron began to exclaim, then he caught a glimpse of the living room and adjoining kitchen. Nearly all the chairs in either room had been flipped over, as well as the kitchen table; it was over this that Wormtail's unconscious body hung, as if he were a wet shirt draped over a clothesline. As for Bellatrix, she had slammed into a wall, a messy trail of blood indicating she had slumped down onto the floor.

Ron knew very well that these two were ranked quite low on the humanity scale, but it was always a shame to see someone…were they…?

"Are they—?"

"They're not dead—unfortunate for me," Lucius muttered. He released Ron's arm and continued talking to himself. "This means Voldemort had some idea as to my plan. But…I didn't feel him penetrate my mind when I spoke to him."

Ron looked up, concerned, and was about to ask another question when Lucius shook his head and turned to Ron again.

"So you sent them to the Order just before we arrived…Moody and the rest of them can't be that far behind. Floo to my house and keep hidden until I get there. Both the Ministry and the rest of Voldemort's followers have made it a habit to drop by my house unannounced lately."

Lucius led him towards the grate, almost exactly as Ron had with Hermione and Mrs. Weasley. Ron knew he was in a hurry, but if he didn't ask, it was going to choke him until he died of suspense.

"…I know I asked you to do all this, and I am grateful, but…you didn't betray me. Why?" he asked, holding a lump of Floo Powder in his right hand.

To his surprise, Lucius smirked and leaned forward, taking that same right hand.

"Children don't break their own toys, Weasley—_Malfoy Manor._"

And Ron was engulfed in green flames.

(End Chap. 45)

Me: I'm not sure if it'll keep this length on the website, but rest assured, people…this chapter goes down in history as the longest chapter I've written (thus far, AND including liner notes). Thirteen pages of Microsoft Word-y goodness! And all the quotes…I could tell you where they come from, but I think it'd be much more fun if you hunted them down yourself. Kinda like my own way of reminiscing…

Plushie: (comes back through the portal, this time holding a coconut drink with a parasol in it and wearing a tiny grass skirt) Can we come back yet?

Me Two: (comes back and pushes him through the portal) IN THE NEXT CHAPTER!! Ahem…anyway, I still haven't finished the book, and for good reason. I'm actually taking the time out to read it to my little niece—

Everyone: Awwww…

Me Three: Aw, pipe down. Anyway, she went somewhere temporarily and I promised her I wouldn't read ahead until she got back.

Everyone: Awwww…

Me Four: (takes out a chainsaw)

Everyone: (shuts up)

Me Five: Good. Anyway, I _will_ let the muses come back, but nobody tell me what happens until I tell you I'm done; I'm only up to Chapter 11! Speaking of which, five more until the Fiftieth! I'm so excited…OH! And the fun facts like I promised:

Dr. Kim-chan's Favorite Chapters: Um…Thirteen, Thirty-Seven, the second half of Thirty-One, and this one!

Dr. Kim-chan's Least Favorite: Twenty-Two hands down. I was feeling particularly uninspired that day…

Dr. Kim-chan's Favorite Moment in the Fic Overall (So Far): So many to choose from…I guess it'd have to be Chapter Seven when Lucius and Ron kiss, but not for the actual scene…yeah, I'll explain. Shortly after I saw the fifth movie, I went back to see if I could do more editing, and I was rereading Chapter Seven when this…(giggle)…this _picture_ popped into my head of Jason Isaacs and Rupert Grint having…(giggle)…having an—_affair_, and Daniel Radcliffe being all mad and jealous…and…(falls to the ground laughing)

Dr. Kim-chan's Fave Ending in a Chapter: Huh…y'know, I don't think I have one. Actually, this chapter'll probably be the answer as well. I thought it'd be a little romantic while keeping a cynical Lucius.

Dr. Kim-chan's Big Fears: Writing Lucius OOC (which I know I've been doing, but I've been trying to keep control of that. You have to take _some_ liberties when you're writing Lucius with a younger—YOUNGER—man), and making Umira Mills too perfect (which I said I'd try to work on, too).

Dr. Kim-chan's Favorite Muse: Uh…(whispers)…keep this under your hat, but…it's Lucius.

Plushie (breaks back through the portal): I THOUGHT I WAS YOUR FAVORITE MUSE!!!!! I'M EVERYONE ELSE'S FAVORITE MUSE!!!!

Me: _OUT!!!_ (Plushie disappears) Anyway…

And FINALLY, I will bequeath to you, my faithful, loving readers, a SUPER-SECRET SPECIAL excerpt from a future chapter. I won't say WHICH chapter; you'd just have to see for yourself:

"_When it comes to intimacy, there is one sign I give—two things, actually—that lets the other know where they stand with me."_

"_What is it?"_

"_Whether or not I kiss them on the mouth, and eye contact. It's rare that I do both at the same time, but if I do, then I'm willing to let it go further."_

"_But…you did that with me that first time, didn't you?"_

_Lucius chuckled softly, the firelight casting shadows in all the right places._

"…_As a matter of fact, I did."_


	46. Hide, Yet Cannot Seek

Title: Black and Deep Desires

By: Dr. Kim-chan

Me: Hey, everybody. On August 21st, I FINALLY finished reading the—oh hell—the last Harry Potter book. (cringes, but nothing happens) Guess it only works when it's underlined/in all caps/bolded. Anyway, with no thanks to my niece, now I'm all caught up, so the muses are coming back, probably crazier than ever! (Suddenly all my muses spill out of the dimensional rift that had conveniently led to Hawaii and jump on me.)

All muses: WHO DIED? WHO DIED? WHO DIED??!!!

Me: _Get off!_ (sprays an anti-muse repellant) I'm not at liberty to discuss that, but what I WILL say is that none of YOU died (points to Draco and Lucius). _I'm so happy you two aren't dead!_ (hugs them and Plushie)

Plushie: I live to make a perverted joke another day!

Harry and Ron: (sadly) What about us?

Me: …………………Meh. (Harry and Ron start to cry)

Me: Enough bawling! (smacks them with a halibut) And I don't know what YOU'RE complaining about, Ron. You're returning to the Malfoy Manor, remember?

Ron: Well, at least that's something I can latch onto.

Plushie: Not to mention Lucius's forty-year-old ass…HEY-ohhhh!

Me: Good one. You been practicing?

Plushie: (blows on his nonexistent nails) Yeah, I still got it.

Me: Well, I see I'm close to my 200th review, as well as my fiftieth chapter, so we got no time to waste (though I've joined up with more clubs at college, so it'd be more like I don't have enough time) Roll it!

(Begin Chap. 46)

…Whether it was of their own imagination or not, it didn't alleviate the fact that the feeling remained; it was as if the air around the Burrow was so still, the oxygen refused to be pulled into the nostrils of the five who were cautiously approaching the house.

"Any movement?" Tonks whispered, more out of curiosity than from a sense of Auror-like professionalism.

"Not as far as I can see," Lupin whispered back.

Moody's jaw tightened, his false eye lazily rolling around in a tight circle. Mr. Weasley, who was just behind him, was experiencing the worst sensation of ambivalence: fatherly concern, anger, worry, and determination were all clashing with each other in his chest. Even Tonks's hair had transformed into a jet-black hue to reflect the seriousness in the atmosphere. Kingsley was already a good few feet ahead of them, surveying the Burrow's backyard for any potential ambush. After satisfying himself by rechecking for any enemies, he signaled to the rest of the group, opened the back door and, with the other four immediately following suit, rushed into the house.

Then they came to an abrupt stop.

Everything was a complete mess, even more than they had anticipated: in the kitchen, the chairs and the morning's breakfast were strewn across the floor, Peter Pettigrew still hanging limp over the table.

After a second Kingsley reemerged from the adjoining living room.

"In here's a wreck, too," he reported, "and you won't believe who else I found."

Moody pushed past Mr. Weasley and leaned over the threshold. Right on the other side of one wall was Bellatrix Lestrange, bloodied and unconscious.

"And someone else made a quick escape," Kingsley added, nodding toward the spilled bag of Floo Powder sparkling on the carpet as the other three nudged past him.

"Didn't Molly and Hermione reach us by Floo?" Tonks asked.

Mr. Weasley shook his head, as if he was unsure of the conclusion he was about to voice.

"They couldn't have made this much mess; Molly said they escaped _before_ Pettigrew and Lestrange busted in. There'd be no need to scatter it all over the place."

A thoughtful silence, and then Tonks almost shouted out:

"Ron! Hermione said he stayed behind!"

Two other questions were on her mind, but the others already had a good guess of what she was wondering: was Ron the one who had valiantly fought and beaten both Lestrange and Pettigrew?

And if he didn't, was he okay?

"I'm searching upstairs," Mr. Weasley said immediately, and rushed up the stairs, Tonks coming up right after him. Lupin stepped fully into the living room and continued surveying the scene, his mind working at full speed.

"Ron couldn't have done this," he said quietly. "Not without—"

"Not without help, you mean," Moody finished. "And he would've come to us right after Molly and Miss Granger. If there was an interloper, they had to be pretty damn skilled to go against these two."

When he indicated the said Death Eaters with his wand, at the same time he placed a Body-Bind Curse on both of them and strode over to collect their wands, muttering something along the lines of, "…should've done this when we first barged in…"

"Whoever it was, if they were—or are still—here," Kingsley started, making an imperceptible nod towards the ceiling, where the noise of the two-person search party was carrying through, "not only did they have to be learned in defensive spells, but they had to know about the attack AND know Ron. I have to give credit to the Death Eaters, though—this was a perfect ambush."

With this, Lupin was suddenly within reach of making a hypothesis…but it couldn't be…

Interrupting his thoughts, Mr. Weasley and Tonks thundered back downstairs, somber looks on their faces. The three men didn't have to be told that Ron wasn't anywhere to be found.

"So," Moody interjected loudly, coming back from confiscating Wormtail's wand, "someone saved him, or someone carried him off."

Lupin frowned at Moody's tactlessness, but knew that those were in fact their only two options.

"Possibly an insider, Kingsley and Remus were gettin' at, since they had the power to defeat two of the most ruthless Death Eaters to walk Britain."

"With close ties to the Weasleys…or to Ron…and they had to know about the surprise attack," Lupin continued.

"But _we_ didn't even know!"

"Our point exactly."

"…Umira? She _is_ a Seer."

Moody dismissed Tonks' theory. "She's running back an' forth between Hogwarts and St. Mungo's, trying to get Potter situated. Even if she had one of her…_predictions_, she wouldn't have been able to come so fast. And Apparating's out of the question; we have this place under protection now."

This couldn't be held in any longer; Lupin had to say it.

"There's someone else."

Everyone turned to him as he unwillingly finished his thought. "With what we know so far…someone who'd been in contact with Ron—just recently—and who could know about the Death Eaters' attack on this place. You don't suppose—?"

Lupin left it to them; it just had to be obvious…and yet so unbelievable…

"Are you saying," Moody growled, "that _Malfoy_ had something to do with this?!"

Tonks furrowed her brows, her hair turning lime green to reflect her confusion, and tilted her head, but Shacklebolt actually seemed to consider the idea.

"He's got a point. Lucius Malfoy may be loyal to You-Know-Who, but we also know that he doesn't play well with his fellow Death Eaters. He may've been part of the attack, then turned traitor at the last second."

"Not to mention his visit to Hogwarts right before Ron was moved back here coincides too perfectly."

"Then where's the Weasley boy?!" Moody demanded.

"Could've taken him with him," Kingsley suggested.

Moody stormed around the kitchen, mulling it over as his false leg thumped on the floorboards. He didn't quite agree with this, but the only thing that made him even more furious than the outrageous claim itself was the possibility that it was right.

"We can't stage a raid on the Malfoy Manor like the Ministry," he finally said, stopping where he stood. "Not that I'm worried about what Fudge would think if we took over investigational authority, but it might cause a retaliation on the Death Eaters' part."

"Wait, wait," Tonks cut in. "What do they want with Ron anyway? We just paid them to get him back!"

A second silence fell upon the room. It had been pretty much all but forgotten that it hadn't been that long ago since the raid on Diagon Alley and the subsequent first kidnapping of Ron.

"The way that went, I'm almost certain it was Malfoy acting on his own; they probably only thought of a way to profit from it after they had Ron," Mr. Weasley finally spoke up. When Kingsley and Lupin nodded in agreement, he continued, "Malfoy was the one who sent us the ransom note, and he was the only one to show up at the exchange, and he was all too willing to put down his wand."

"Too willing…" Moody echoed, and he began pacing noisily again.

"What's it mean then? That You-Know-Who isn't interested in Ron; it's all Lucius?"

"Voldemort _had_ to be involved; otherwise Lestrange and Pettigrew wouldn't have shown up to the party," Moody said dourly.

"Yeah, but what if he learned about what Malfoy was up to?" Tonks argued. "And then Malfoy had no other choice but to…turn on the Death Eaters?"

Moody abruptly stopped pacing again, but said nothing else; he suddenly rushed back over to Pettigrew's incarcerated body.

"We'll find that out when we turn these two in," Kingsley piped up. "Fudge can't be too mad at us for rounding these two up—"

"Look."

Moody was crouched low to the ground, almost level with Pettigrew's upside-down face. The rest peered in the direction that the retired Auror's electric-blue eye was pointing towards. On a corner of the Death Eater's mouth, interlaced with a drop of blood, was a thick liquid string of golden-amber. Kingsley straightened up and dashed into the living room, then reappeared with a rare look of wonderment on his face.

"Lestrange has it on her lips too."

"They were slipped something. Still fresh," he added when he poked the bulging drop at the end of the string with his wand, and the liquid slowly began running down the side of Pettigrew's face again. "I've barely seen this used on someone, not when we got something as convenient as Memory Charms, but this is a Memory Potion—for permanent erasure."

Now _everyone_ appeared confused.

"So whoever attacked them didn't want them to remember it," Tonks pressed on, now also keen on the Lucius Malfoy theory. No one added or opposed to that; that was as good a clue as anything. Everyone now watched Moody as he kept rearranging his mouth into various frowns, wondering if he would give in to what little clues and conjecture they had to go on.

"If he did nick back the Weasley boy at the last minute," Moody finally breathed, "chances are he won't jump up to join the Order right away, or reveal where he is. Even when saving someone else, he'd want to save his own hide first. But whether it was Malfoy or not, our top priorities now are bringing in these two and finding Arthur's son. We did it before. We can do it again."

…The stillness in the Malfoy Manor was overbearing.

One would think that with a house this size, it would have been commonplace, or that three people wouldn't have made a difference. Even though Ron had only served here for a couple of months, he had felt it. He knew, just from looking at Lucius's face, what a difference of a lost family member—or the addition of a captive—made.

Even though he had been given the order to hide as soon as he arrived, Ron couldn't help but give himself a bit of a tour. At the moment he was wandering the corridors of the second floor, heading in the general direction of Lucius's master bedroom. It seemed that in the few weeks since he was given back to the Order, the Malfoy Manor lost all of what little warmth Ron had inadvertently given it. All the light that illuminated the manor's walls was natural, yet also dim from the thin film of dust covering the windows. Apparently, the loss of a servant left the Malfoys helpless against the chore of cleaning. Nothing had been dusted; the air of gloom was magnified threefold. Possibly…someone else had been here…

Someone who could spread around misery such as this…

Ron jumped, even though no noise had startled him, and shook off the feeling of fear he'd given himself. Why would _he_ be here? Wouldn't he prefer locations with a little less profile? Damp, dark and out of the way of the eyes of prying Ministry officials?

He jumped again. This time there _had_ been a noise…from downstairs.

Ron scurried as fast as he could to the master bedroom without outright running (footsteps were as loud as dragons' roars in this house), closed the door, and took a few moments to consider his hiding places. The bathroom was no good, and he didn't think hiding under the bed would work a second time.

Wardrobe.

Ron pushed open the door set in the wall and enclosed himself in near-absolute darkness, then turned around to allow himself to remember the layout of the place. It was more of a walk-in closet than anything else, but Lucius always preferred to call it a wardrobe. Ron ventured further and further back, pushing away robes and blouses, tripping over a boot on occasion, and it seemed like a good six or eight feet before he hit solid wall—probably a little louder than he meant to. He rubbed his forehead and turned back to the door. Still nothing, but he was so far into the innards of the Manor, he wondered if it was possible to hear anything…

He crouched down, hunting around for a good niche to hide himself in, when he heard an unfamiliar gruff voice in the distance.

"I don't know what Malfoy's thinking, getting himself mixed up with that lot. Does he really wanna get killed by Voldemort that badly?"

Another voice immediately answered the first one.

"Don't tell me you act'lly _believe_ Pettigrew's rubbish? All we been 'earing 'as been comin' from that vermin's mouth! We're wastin' our time, is all, just 'cause of a letter Zabini sent to Malfoy a month ago! I don't even think that damn letter even exists..."

"True, Pettigrew does seem to relish in knocking others down a couple of notches, but the Dark Lord's smarter than to give in to that groveling worm's flattery."

An opening of a door and some things being shuffled around.

"Wot we lookin' for, anyway?"

"Actually, we're waiting for Malfoy to return from his mission with Lestrange and Pettigrew, but I couldn't help but look…"

Ron had stopped breathing for a couple of moments; footsteps had been getting closer to the door of the wardrobe, but at the deep-voiced man's reply, the footsteps suddenly stopped.

"Look for what?"

"I heard about Zabini writing him a letter, too. Supposedly it was when he went to visit someone overseas for some ingredients to that Elixir he was making. But I also heard Bellatrix say she had a copy, so I reckon Malfoy had the original…"

"What's so important 'bout that letter, anyway?!"

"I don't know, but if the Dark Lord's worried about the rumors, then—"

The sentence was cut off by a couple of hissing sounds, then the tiny rustling of fabric.

"Speak of the devil. He's calling us back."

"What th' bloody—we just got 'ere! Weren't we s'posed to be waitin' for Malfoy?"

"...Maybe someone got to him first. Let's go."

The sound of the bedroom door closing fell on deaf ears. _Someone got to him first?_ The Order? Or could it have been…?

The irony failed to amuse him, but for the first time, Ron was actually wishing to be found by Lucius Malfoy.

(End Chap. 46)

Me: Yeah, it's a cliffhanger. So what? With all that's been happening at college, I was lucky to finish this before Halloween.

Lucius: (casually flips through her day planner which is CLEARLY marked "Private") You certainly are a jill-of-all-trades.

Me: (takes back the planner and smacks him with it)

Lucius: I believe your usual brand of slapstick humor is beginning to wane.

Me: You wanna stay alive past Chapter 50?

Lucius: …But threats are of another matter entirely.

Me: (pets him) Good Luci.


End file.
